Marshall pulled to the side of the road and shut it off (his tote goat-a mini bike-type cycle, with tractor style tires, made for working in the woods)-off.
"Hi, Marshall. How you doin?"
"Pruddy good ... how r you?"
"Pretty good. I need to buy a couple, ah, boulders, how much are they?"
"Well I sell em buy the pound don't cha know?"
"You sell em by the pound huh Marshall, well how much per pound are they?"
"I guess I kin give em ta you fer four cents a pound."
"Four cents a pound. Let's see, that's two boulders, one ton a piece, that's two thousand twice is four thousand ... "
"Adda be a $160."
"Hundred and sixty dollars? Jeesh, Marshall, that's awful steep for a couple a boulders ain't it?"
"Well by Jesum H. Cripes, they come with a lifetime garuntee."
Marshall is also the sheriff in the town. He's got a fairly easy go if it, he don't climb into his cruiser till around ten thirty in the morning; I say cruiser, it's a nineteen seventy nine limited edition Ford LTD Country Squire station wagon, the kind with the aluminum wood on the side of it. He's got a flash light duct taped to the roof over top of his head that he flicks on and off when he's chasin after somebody. He's got the siren noise on tape he flicks into a tape recorder sets next to him on the seat there; he's holds a microphone down to that that's hooked up to a speaker horn heads out the right side window, so that when he's chasin after somebody he's hold the microphone down there, flickin' the flashlight on and off above is head so that he's got to be drivin with his knee.
He gets out of his cruiser around two thirty in the afternoon. He don't patrol too much into the evening time, only when the megabucks is up over a hundred thousand and he can't sleep at night anyways he's so nerved up he might win the gol darn thing.
But he was out patrolin one evening, when he spied a white plater, make a roollll through a stop sign. Course Marshall had be quite particular about that intersection because that's same one where the Rev. Price's young son was killed tragically quite a few years back now. The Rev. Price only having one other child a daughter Emmy, who run off with one a them hippy fellers back in the late sixty's, and they took off and went up into the Northeast Kingdom and set up what we knew as was the first hippy commune.
We all remember the boys funeral. It was sad.
The Rev. Price had been up on the alter deliverin his son's urology - when he got so nerved up he begin to quiver and quake so badly, that he started a stutterin. And he has been stutterin ever since. And it ain't just one a them faint stutters neither, it's one a them kinds where you twitch.
Course, I guess perhaps the most tragic thing that come out a the whole ordeal was that the Rev, Price's congregation was never all that large, but my oh gory how you should a seen it dwindle after he started a stutterin and a twitchin through them services. You could imagine.
With the flick of a switch, Marshall was in hot pursuit of the Queeb. (Canadian)
To be continued.
Rusty DeWees tours Vermont and Northern New York with his act "The Logger." His column appears weekly. He can be reached at email@example.com. Listen for The Logger, Rusty DeWees, Thursdays at 7:40 on the Big Station, 98.9 WOKO or visit his website at www.thelogger.com