pleasant group of locals. He was beginning to feel comfortable in his new hiking boots and selection of flannel shirts. He spent his days hiking in the obscenely quiet woods, often walking himself sober on Saturday mornings before he started over again on Saturday night.
During Jack’s second weekend in town, the bartender sat down next to him, looked him in the eye, and shrugged his shoulders.
“I’m not from around here.” Jack said. “I just need to sort some things out and get my mind right. I’m calling ‘Time Out’ for a little while.”
It was the kind of town and the kind of place where people loved to assign nicknames.
Jack Englemann had just christened himself.
“Time-Out Jack”.
This was fine by Time-Out Jack.
There were three pubs within reasonable walking distance from the row of bed-and-breakfasts where Jack stayed. He had visited them all. The one where he chose to spend his weekends had a regular gathering of locals, a couple of pool tables, and a juke box with a good selection that wasn’t too fast and wasn’t too loud. It also had a friendly staff that didn’t ask a lot of questions and they would actually sit and have a drink with the customers when business was slow.
Jack left the bar one Saturday night at closing time, as was usual. He had been accepted by the local fraternity after his fifth weekend in a row, and three of his new friends attempted to talk him into going with them to the all-night diner down by the Interstate. He was tempted for a moment, but he was still a law enforcement professional, even after a night of heavy drinking. Riding across town with a drunk driver was just begging for trouble. He begged off, saying “Maybe some other time”.
Jack remembered his professional responsibilities, but he did forget which direction he needed to walk to find the cabin where he was staying for the weekend. His first turn was a wrong turn, and he ended up almost a half mile away in the opposite direction and completely lost.
He was in the middle of the street stumbling in a circle when two patrolmen found him.
Jordan Blackledge bolted to a sitting position in his bed after answering his phone on the second ring. He glanced at the clock on the end table. Two forty A. M.
“What?” he exclaimed, causing Samantha to sit up.
“Yes, this is Jordan Blackledge, Officer— what? Officer Crowley? Holy shit, give me that num— he’s still on the line? Put him on, put him on.
“Yes, this is Jordan Blackledge. Jack Engl— yes, I understand. Give me— I don’t know how long. I’ve never been there, but I’m leaving immediately. Don’t call anyone el— I’m sorry, you’re right. Just— I’m asking you, please, as a brother, look— we’re all cops here, right? We carry a badge and a piece, and we look out for each other, right? Shit happens sometimes, you know? You hearing me, Brother? I’m leaving right now. I’m putting my pants on right now. Don’t talk to anyone else until I get there, okay? I’m out the door—”
“My God, Jordan,” Samantha said.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
Jordan was hopping into his pants while simultaneously trying to put on a shoe.
“That was New Hampshire P.D. in some little Shire two hundred miles from here. They’re holding Jack for Public Intoxication, or Public Nuisance, or whatever— Drunk— Drunk and Disorderly. At two thirty in the morning they can pick whatever charge they want to. They called the PD here after they checked out his I.D. and badge and what I just received is loosely referred to as a ‘courtesy call’, which means I have very little time to get there and head off something really bad. I have to go, Honey.”
“Of course,” Samantha said. “Call me if you need anything, I’ll be home all day.”
“You’re the best, Baby,” Jordan said, attempting to kiss his wife while trying to tie a shoe and put on his jacket at the same time. Samantha pushed him away.
“Yes, I am.
During Jack’s second weekend in town, the bartender sat down next to him, looked him in the eye, and shrugged his shoulders.
“I’m not from around here.” Jack said. “I just need to sort some things out and get my mind right. I’m calling ‘Time Out’ for a little while.”
It was the kind of town and the kind of place where people loved to assign nicknames.
Jack Englemann had just christened himself.
“Time-Out Jack”.
This was fine by Time-Out Jack.
There were three pubs within reasonable walking distance from the row of bed-and-breakfasts where Jack stayed. He had visited them all. The one where he chose to spend his weekends had a regular gathering of locals, a couple of pool tables, and a juke box with a good selection that wasn’t too fast and wasn’t too loud. It also had a friendly staff that didn’t ask a lot of questions and they would actually sit and have a drink with the customers when business was slow.
Jack left the bar one Saturday night at closing time, as was usual. He had been accepted by the local fraternity after his fifth weekend in a row, and three of his new friends attempted to talk him into going with them to the all-night diner down by the Interstate. He was tempted for a moment, but he was still a law enforcement professional, even after a night of heavy drinking. Riding across town with a drunk driver was just begging for trouble. He begged off, saying “Maybe some other time”.
Jack remembered his professional responsibilities, but he did forget which direction he needed to walk to find the cabin where he was staying for the weekend. His first turn was a wrong turn, and he ended up almost a half mile away in the opposite direction and completely lost.
He was in the middle of the street stumbling in a circle when two patrolmen found him.
Jordan Blackledge bolted to a sitting position in his bed after answering his phone on the second ring. He glanced at the clock on the end table. Two forty A. M.
“What?” he exclaimed, causing Samantha to sit up.
“Yes, this is Jordan Blackledge, Officer— what? Officer Crowley? Holy shit, give me that num— he’s still on the line? Put him on, put him on.
“Yes, this is Jordan Blackledge. Jack Engl— yes, I understand. Give me— I don’t know how long. I’ve never been there, but I’m leaving immediately. Don’t call anyone el— I’m sorry, you’re right. Just— I’m asking you, please, as a brother, look— we’re all cops here, right? We carry a badge and a piece, and we look out for each other, right? Shit happens sometimes, you know? You hearing me, Brother? I’m leaving right now. I’m putting my pants on right now. Don’t talk to anyone else until I get there, okay? I’m out the door—”
“My God, Jordan,” Samantha said.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
Jordan was hopping into his pants while simultaneously trying to put on a shoe.
“That was New Hampshire P.D. in some little Shire two hundred miles from here. They’re holding Jack for Public Intoxication, or Public Nuisance, or whatever— Drunk— Drunk and Disorderly. At two thirty in the morning they can pick whatever charge they want to. They called the PD here after they checked out his I.D. and badge and what I just received is loosely referred to as a ‘courtesy call’, which means I have very little time to get there and head off something really bad. I have to go, Honey.”
“Of course,” Samantha said. “Call me if you need anything, I’ll be home all day.”
“You’re the best, Baby,” Jordan said, attempting to kiss his wife while trying to tie a shoe and put on his jacket at the same time. Samantha pushed him away.
“Yes, I am.
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