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 |   Enga mellom fjella: where from across the meadow, poems sing from mountains and molehills. |
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Enga mellom Fjella  Sentinel Marked as if you own me I bow before the Bitterroots and just like you my rocky soil, my withered grass lays prey to the empty sky. © Kåre Enga 2007 "Sentinel"   Reader's Choice of Poems: "'heart's home'" "In Lagada, la vita" "In search of Iris" "Boise City" "Drugs sold here" Reader's Choice of blog entries from my old blog "L'aura del Campo" :"Death of Jeannie New Moon" "Winter: 18 Mas'il (December 29)" "When is it proper to tell someone you love them?" "Holy day. Autumn in November. A mole." "ENFP, what are you?" FACES     PLACES            Kåre  Enga~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go. ~ Elizabeth Bishop The Fish |
| The office secretary Sheila Brown sat at her second-hand desk, glanced at a piece of paper placed in front her, looked up at the hulk standing over her, but didn't flinch. In this line of work one never flinched. "Secretaries Rule" was posted where anyone couldn't miss it. The hand that threw the brick stopped the train. Sheila read the color-coded scrawl twice. Well, duh. Her eyebrows arched. "Any more details, Inspector Wallace?" "The brick matches a thousand others in this town. The conductor didn't see anything before the window shattered." "The hand?" "No fingerprints." How convenient. Sheila bore him with her eyes. "Any motive?" "None we know of." Oh? I could think of a few. "Suspects?" "None, other than that railroad gang we keep hearing about." Nice deflection. Too bad that won't work. "Who's working with you on this case?" "It's just me. Quackers is on vacation." "Sergeant Catriona Macquarie is on vacation?" "Yeah, got a pile of work on my desk." I'm sure you do. "I suspect that this may be more important than serving warrants for traffic violations, Inspector." "I..." "The Chief expects a detailed report in two days... Inspector." "I dunno... that gang leader is one bad hombre... may need backup." "Yeah." Sheila laughed and placed the note in her in-box as he turned and left. She took one quick glance at the beefy fingers that had grabbed her last Tuesday clasped around a pen as if to strangle it. She smiled. She knew who the truly bad guy was. It took one to catch one, they said. She was badder. Chief Stacy Stanowicz had known that when she hired her. |
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