Clarence Delaney

Clarence Delaney

"Yea, but the FBI will be there. What's up with that?"

Mary

                When the windshield wipers swiped at the rain they left a thin streak in the middle.  The black rubber bent against the glass but was frayed just where the streak formed.  The streak was eye-level with Clarence when he sat straight up.  So for the majority of the trip to Sam’s Town he had been slouching.  The small of his back would be sore, he knew, but right now it was in a comfortable curve. 

                When he looked in the rear-view mirror he saw an empty back seat and thought of his kids.  He wished Donny was there and Kaylee.  He wanted to see Nate and Neil too, though he hadn’t been able to say good-bye to Nate because he had been at his own home.  He told Donny, Neil, and Kaylee that he was going to Sam’s Town for two weeks. Neil, being a teenager, looked at his father blankly.  When Donny asked, “where is Sam’s Town?” Kaylee said, “That was where Uncle Jarvis used to live.”

“I think Donny was still a baby then, he wouldn’t remember that,” Clarence had reminded her.

“No, I wasn’t! It’s right over away from the expressway there.” Donny contested.  Clarence couldn’t argue with that though any town might be said to be ‘right over away from the expressway.’  In fact Sam’s Town was sixty miles south of where they lived now, Nearport, on Interstate 13. 

The kids liked road trips like this.  They would save up money weeks before and buy as many snacks as possible on the first pit stop.  Sometimes Laura, their mother and his wife at the time, would come with.  Sometimes she didn’t.  Nate was the only one who didn’t like these drives.  He loved the plane trip to Fort Meyers Florida in the United States. Nate had fallen asleep on the cool glass airplane window pane somewhere over the Atlantic.

                The windows of the Casper Elite 2003 were becoming foggy.  The Casper had boasted of little else than a thorough and persistent cooling and heating system when it arrived on the market two years ago.  Now the same vents filtered little and cooled less. The weak six cylinder engine got him from work and home but that was pretty much it. 0 to 60 in 10,000 miles or 5 years whichever comes first.  He turned the air vent knob to ‘off’ and winced at the sorry tone it let out.  He turned and apologized to the sleeping body that was Mary Twetsetter’s.

                In some ways Mary and Laura looked a lot alike.  They both had long black hair and short bangs.  Their faces had similar features except that Laura had high and present cheek bones.  Mary outweighed Laura by thirty pounds though it was to be expected since all of her brothers were 6’2’’ and weighed twice that of Clarence.  She moved gracefully around cubicles and laughed if she didn’t, that is what real confidence is, Clarence thought. 

The road unpeeled in front of them as the sunk into a low valley.  Cars would pass them or be passed.  The woman stirred beside him, “you’re a quiet driver.”

“You’re a quiet sleeper,” he replied looking over at her.  “I forgot my good pen half way there so we had to go back.  We’re only just leaving.”

“What? Pen? No, oh Clarence that’s a good one.” She was silent for a moment and then said, “We must have passed Big Stone.” She began to sit up.

“Yea, how did you know?”

“Just knew.” There were things Mary just knew and no one knew how. I guess that’s why she’s in investigations.  He liked her reports and the way she dealt with each case.  Since they worked under a broad motto: Investigate, Inform, Protect, any agent in his office could be assigned to any sort of case. An homicide, abduction, rape, or pillage (if that ever happened) case could be on your desk come Monday morning.  Theory told Mary to go one way on a murder a few years back so she followed it.  The case closed within a week.  The theory had been her own that she published two years prior as her master’s dissertation titled: Routine and Culturally Based Criminal Behavior. 

Mary began moving around.  She stretched her whole body and let her hand drop to the side of her seat.  The hand pulled up a lever sending her and the back of the seat violently forward.  She aloud a smirk and Clarence laughed. “When we get there you should do all of the talking.  I’ll pretend I’m American.”  The passenger suggested.

“I like where you’re going with this but why would being American matter?” Clarence contested.

“Ok you’re right.” And she thought, “Swedish!”

“Fine but how do we explain a Swede is investigating a Kidnapping in Newtopia about a Newtopian Senator in Spain.”

“Yea but the FBI will be there. What’s up with that?” Mary asked.

“Yea.” Clarence couldn’t answer that.  There with nothing said for a while.

Later in the drive beyond another deep southern slope Clarence found himself looking at something that was squinting-distance away.  He squinted at the black object that lay across the interstate.  The object grew with each wipe of the windshield, blurring its growing presence in their path. “Semi.” Clarence said. “Over-turned?” he asked.

“No, on its side.  From the looks of it a car drove in front of him and he tried to turn out of the way.  Look, one of those damn local streets.” Mary said and pointed.  Following Mary’s finger Clarence saw a row of tall aluminum-alloy street lamps that stoodd out and perpendicular from where the truck’s trailer lay.  It soon turned from a benevolent scene to chaos and a traffic accident.

The trailer covered all but one lane where officers were allowing alternate directions of traffic to pass.  When it became the Casper’s turn they slowly wheeled by and the accident opened up like a curtain rising above a stage. “Tell me what you see.” Clarnece said in reverence of the Maxine Mandate.  The mandate stated that it was a misdemeanor offense to stare at a crash or accident if it may impair your driving or slow traffic.  Maxine was killed when another driver behind her slammed into her at 45 miles an hour who was likely gaping at the accident beside them. 

“Yea so there’s an indistinguishable liquid everywhere but mostly around the cab of the truck which is facing southwest.” Mary picked up as smooth as a sports announcer.  “The car which is almost in front of you is upside-down and facing northwest.” Clarence stole a glance at the car which was now on their left.  The crunched side had suffered all the fury of the semi it seemed as it lay with frayed aluminum and broken glass.  When he heard a honk he checked his speed and shook his head. My bad Maxine.  When he sped up Mary said, “Slow down.”

“Look it’s just-,” he started to say.

“No you look, this was no accident. It was a murder!”