CHASING RINEHARTShockley staggered out of his unmarked Brown Seville with major unease. He was shaking fromalcohol withdrawals. The muscles of his neck were slowly convulsing as his chin bounced up anddown involuntarily at the same time. His left ear felt as if it was on fire. It was hot and swollen insideand out from Rinehart's shotgun blast that had grazed him earlier in the day.Shockley needed a drink. Actually, he needed it
yesterday.
Looks like he had picked one Hell of aday to stop drinking. Why Shockley had picked today of all days to stop was a mystery even tohimself. He only knew it was the
right
time, and long overdue.Chasing Rinehart for almost 24 hours had taken its toll on him.The sun blasting his face at mid-day reflected from hot, newly laid down black asphalt was really beginning to get to him. He could smell the asphalt in his nose, sticking to his nose hairs like unwantedhouse guests crashing a dinner party.This was how the farmland roads in Nebraska were²miles and miles of straight black and grayroads surrounded by wire picket fences and red barns living in the distance. Red barns painted yearsago. Now faded and almost reddish-black, they looked burnt and grossly faded from his viewpoint.Shockley had received the call in his unmarked Brown Seville yesterday morning. He had been parked at the local 7-Eleven downing a 24-ounce Budweiser. He never bothered to hide the fact toanyone in his Omaha district that he was a stone cold alcoholic, everyone knew that anyway. They alsoknew he was a cop, so they left him alone to do what he wanted. In the middle of drinking theBudweiser, a call had come in over his police radio:Rinehart Carlson had escaped from the state prison a day earlier and had already robbed one bank inthe vicinity. While in the middle of robbing it, he had plugged a retired school teacher with a sawed-off shotgun blast. Rinehart had procured the shotgun from one of those same red barns Shockley had
2trouble viewing in the Nebraska wastelands. While cashing her monthly social security check to buythe monthly ration of cat food,(not for her cat, the schoolteacher didn¶t have one) Rinehart hadgraciously put her out of her misery and shot out the windshield of the schoolteacher¶s car(along withher head) at the same time.Armed and dangerous. Maniacal and manipulative. Yep, sounds like the Rinehart that Shockley hadcome to know and love.³
WTF???????
T
hat hoodlum escaped
?
I put him away more than seven years ago.´
rangShockley's inner voice with displeasure.
So here was Shockley chasing Rinehart for the second time in seven years and hating every minuteof it. The last time, Shockley had caught Rinehart while lounging in a local bar right after he haddestroyed a church with a gasoline can and a match. Just having a little drinkie poo after lighting up anesteemed local church that had been there over a hundred years.Shockley had come up behind Rinehart and pistol-whipped him when Rinehart came out of the bathroom from taking a piss. That was Shockley. He didn't take any chances. He got the job done. Alittle beauty mark on the back of a known lunatic's head wasn't going to stop Shockley from doing his job the correct way.
Correctomundo motherfucker.
Besides, the patrons of the bar had applauded immediately as if they were seeing the end of aSpielberg movie. After a short lecture given by Shockley to a stunned Rinehart on the proper dos anddonts of good Christians, Shockley had taken him into the precinct where further lecturing occurred via batons and gun butts from other officers of the law.Seems this time, Rinehart had decided to move up in the world from arson to bank robbery and
3
homicide.Yep, moved right on up. Just like George and Weezy did to the West-side.How Rinehart had escaped from his confines at the Nebraska State Prison that Shockley had helped put him in seven years ago was a story onto itself. It seems Rinehart had a relative within the menacinggates of the Nebraska State Penitentiary. Seems this relative had helped Rinehart escape by poisoninghim with a slight dose of Arsenic in his morning mush they try to pass off as Cream of Wheat withinthe walls of The Nebraska State Pen. Seems also Rinehart's relative was the administrative head cook in charge of assigning inmates to the kitchen. Rinehart's relative had assigned an Aryan-Brotherhoodcrony to do the dirty work for him. Of course, the magic trick was making Reinhart sick enoughwithout crossing the line and placing
to much
Arsenic within the Cream of Wheat morning mush so asto kill him. This AB crony was instructed as to the proper amount only to make Rinehart violently sick enough to be taken to a local hospital. The Aryan's knew the Nebraska Pen in which they enjoyedshanking and fucking enemies (and each other) for money and drugs good enough to know that itcurrently had no facilities as to deter or deal with that type of poisoning.They had done their research.What people on the outside don't know is that some of these guys are fucking geniuses. They don'tcall em' cooks for nothing. If they can make meth on the outside, they certainly can determine what'senough Arsenic to kill or not kill a 205 pound Aryan-Brother on the inside.
Evil geniuses.
Rinehart, being a long-time member of an Aryan-Brotherhood click called the
Slags
on the street,(the Aryan-Brotherhood deferred to sticking together as a unit within the pen and stuck to their own prison name called The Woods)had an apparent longtime familial tie with this good ole' boy Uncle who
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