Post by Awesome Stick Labor on Nov 18, 2017 21:32:49 GMT
November 16, 2017 - 7:30 PM
Three weeks after the shooting...
"Would ya like your usual?"
We find James Gilmore inside his favorite watering hole, the ubiquitous Keg Room, sitting alone on a stool as Agnes "Aggie" Hobson, his longtime friend and confidant, handed him a bottle of Budweiser from the back. It was a warm and humid day outside; yet in spite of the mostly sunny conditions, the Islander alum wasn't exactly in the mood for cheerful things. It had been three weeks since everything about his own life was turned on its head, and all James wanted was a moment to himself and his old friend. It was times like these when he sought counsel from Aggie over a bottle of beer, and the haggard expression on his mug told the whole story.
These past 21 days or so have been hell on him, leaving him with an uncertain future--a notion Aggie, in her late-60s, had pointed out. "You're lookin' like a guy who's dinin' on ashes and drinkin' dust," she spoke, watching for James to open up his drink. He had a lot on his mind, and he felt as if he needed to reevaulate his circle of friends.
"Yeah. It was arrogance on my end that got me into this hot mess to begin with. I coulda been killed," he intoned gravely. He had blindly trusted two people in Lindsey Grawn and her uncle Ricky--so much so that he never believed that, for one moment in time, they would ultimately conspire to do him harm. Sure, he needed physical proof of his hunches instead of just circumstances, but the very notion that those two would want to have him assassinated still brought a sharp, mental pain into his heart.
"As my daddy used to tell me all the time...'the night is young'," Aggie warmly said, trying to soften the blow of what her friend had been through. "Truth be told, I've known you for a very, very long time, and sometimes...we tend to think the same things. Like, say, findin' peace in our country is worth takin' a few personal risks."
James couldn't help but muster a cheeky smirk. He knew, then and there, that Aggie was right--even though it meant having to take a chance or two, he always felt it was the only way to stand up for what he truly believed in as a person. "When ya think about it, we're both extremists in our own right. You've always been a great one for seein' the good in people's souls and thinkin' logically," he said, which made Aggie smile warmly. "I've always been one for rushin' in where angels fear to tread. The reality we live in now is somewhere in between--like a balancin' scale or somethin'."
James took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, reflecting upon the true reason why he decided to take the path he took. "I couldn't let go of my mother after her death," he whispered softly. It was soon clear as to where this conversation was going to turn. It was going to be about football or wrestling.
Rather, it was about dealing with prejudice on all fronts.
"When I first that Lindsey gal on TV talkin' about you runnin' for mayor, I started feelin' prejudiced by her accomplishments as a political spokesperson," Aggie intoned, realizing that, perhaps, her friend was right about Lindsey all along.
"A man died on my beachhead before I understood how prejudiced I was...," James said, his voice trailing off yet still in deep thought. He placed on hand on the top of his beer bottle, ready to open the cap; yet he stopped short of doing so. It was at this point in time when James began to realize how wrong he truly was for letting himself be influenced by the wrong crowd, for longing over a period of his life that was long since passed. "Fiona was right from the very beginnin'. I shoulda never trusted the Grawns...and I'm beginnin' to understand why."
James slowly opened his beer yet didn't take a sip. Instead he glanced over to a small glass of water he recieved with the other drink, taking a moment to gaze upon a smallish reflection of himself, an aged, wrinkled visage that was a far cry from the man he used to be.
"Have you ever felt...that you've gotten to be so old and so inflexible, that ya just ain't useful to the world no more?," he asked as he stared at his booze. "I'm feelin' that way, and I've never felt like that before 'til now. Would that constitute me as nothin'...but a joke?"
"Hun, don't crucify yourself. That shootin' was an accident that coulda happened to anyone at anytime," Aggie assured, patting James on the arm like a loving grandmother.
"I was responsible. I didn't think that there were people who would wanna do me harm," he replied, shaking his head.
"You couldn't have known," the old bar owner said as she checked her inventory listings. "Besides...ya can't know everything. If ya did, livin' life would be meaningless. That's what makes us human--dealin' with the unknown."
"I find that...kinda rhetorical," James responded with a slight chuckle.
"C'mon darlin'. Drink your brew before it becomes stale," Aggie noted, watching as the door to the drinking establishment swung open, revealing CCPD detective Abby Faulkner, who was sporting a black outfit with matching black stilettos. "Hello," her soothing voice called to James as she sat down on the stool next to him and placed a small package on the bar.
"How'd ya know I'd be here Abby," the Islander alum quizzed, but Abby wasn't there for simple small-talk. She was smiling though, which meant that she had something positive to report to him directly.
"Mr. Gilmore, I've got some news for you. You've been no-billed," she spoke. "You don't have to worry about anything anymore."
At that moment, James Gilmore began to cry tears of joy, that he can finally be able to put his legal troubles behind him and get back to work. Yet deep within his soul, he still felt uncertain--after all, he wasn't sure whether or not he would stil have a job to come back to. "I...I-I-I dunno if I'm gonna be welcomed back or not. Some might call me a killer that got away with it," he said.
The two women shook their heads. "Don't let anyone bring you down by telling you that rubbish," Abby said as she smiled at her new friend. She then pointed at the box that read "FOR YOUR EYES ONLY...JAMES" as he took a big sip from his beer.
"I was able to pull a few strings and do some digging for you on the Grawns; you can peruse the package when you get back to your place," she announced as Mikhail Federov, Gilmore's buddy and bodyguard, strolled in from the McDonald's across Alameda, carrying several bags of food. Yet Faulkner wanted to warn James about the contents of the box--for she had found that he might not be able to process its contents.
"If you do, however, be warned...you're not gonna like what I found out."
TO BE CONTINUED...
Three weeks after the shooting...
"Would ya like your usual?"
We find James Gilmore inside his favorite watering hole, the ubiquitous Keg Room, sitting alone on a stool as Agnes "Aggie" Hobson, his longtime friend and confidant, handed him a bottle of Budweiser from the back. It was a warm and humid day outside; yet in spite of the mostly sunny conditions, the Islander alum wasn't exactly in the mood for cheerful things. It had been three weeks since everything about his own life was turned on its head, and all James wanted was a moment to himself and his old friend. It was times like these when he sought counsel from Aggie over a bottle of beer, and the haggard expression on his mug told the whole story.
These past 21 days or so have been hell on him, leaving him with an uncertain future--a notion Aggie, in her late-60s, had pointed out. "You're lookin' like a guy who's dinin' on ashes and drinkin' dust," she spoke, watching for James to open up his drink. He had a lot on his mind, and he felt as if he needed to reevaulate his circle of friends.
"Yeah. It was arrogance on my end that got me into this hot mess to begin with. I coulda been killed," he intoned gravely. He had blindly trusted two people in Lindsey Grawn and her uncle Ricky--so much so that he never believed that, for one moment in time, they would ultimately conspire to do him harm. Sure, he needed physical proof of his hunches instead of just circumstances, but the very notion that those two would want to have him assassinated still brought a sharp, mental pain into his heart.
"As my daddy used to tell me all the time...'the night is young'," Aggie warmly said, trying to soften the blow of what her friend had been through. "Truth be told, I've known you for a very, very long time, and sometimes...we tend to think the same things. Like, say, findin' peace in our country is worth takin' a few personal risks."
James couldn't help but muster a cheeky smirk. He knew, then and there, that Aggie was right--even though it meant having to take a chance or two, he always felt it was the only way to stand up for what he truly believed in as a person. "When ya think about it, we're both extremists in our own right. You've always been a great one for seein' the good in people's souls and thinkin' logically," he said, which made Aggie smile warmly. "I've always been one for rushin' in where angels fear to tread. The reality we live in now is somewhere in between--like a balancin' scale or somethin'."
James took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, reflecting upon the true reason why he decided to take the path he took. "I couldn't let go of my mother after her death," he whispered softly. It was soon clear as to where this conversation was going to turn. It was going to be about football or wrestling.
Rather, it was about dealing with prejudice on all fronts.
"When I first that Lindsey gal on TV talkin' about you runnin' for mayor, I started feelin' prejudiced by her accomplishments as a political spokesperson," Aggie intoned, realizing that, perhaps, her friend was right about Lindsey all along.
"A man died on my beachhead before I understood how prejudiced I was...," James said, his voice trailing off yet still in deep thought. He placed on hand on the top of his beer bottle, ready to open the cap; yet he stopped short of doing so. It was at this point in time when James began to realize how wrong he truly was for letting himself be influenced by the wrong crowd, for longing over a period of his life that was long since passed. "Fiona was right from the very beginnin'. I shoulda never trusted the Grawns...and I'm beginnin' to understand why."
James slowly opened his beer yet didn't take a sip. Instead he glanced over to a small glass of water he recieved with the other drink, taking a moment to gaze upon a smallish reflection of himself, an aged, wrinkled visage that was a far cry from the man he used to be.
"Have you ever felt...that you've gotten to be so old and so inflexible, that ya just ain't useful to the world no more?," he asked as he stared at his booze. "I'm feelin' that way, and I've never felt like that before 'til now. Would that constitute me as nothin'...but a joke?"
"Hun, don't crucify yourself. That shootin' was an accident that coulda happened to anyone at anytime," Aggie assured, patting James on the arm like a loving grandmother.
"I was responsible. I didn't think that there were people who would wanna do me harm," he replied, shaking his head.
"You couldn't have known," the old bar owner said as she checked her inventory listings. "Besides...ya can't know everything. If ya did, livin' life would be meaningless. That's what makes us human--dealin' with the unknown."
"I find that...kinda rhetorical," James responded with a slight chuckle.
"C'mon darlin'. Drink your brew before it becomes stale," Aggie noted, watching as the door to the drinking establishment swung open, revealing CCPD detective Abby Faulkner, who was sporting a black outfit with matching black stilettos. "Hello," her soothing voice called to James as she sat down on the stool next to him and placed a small package on the bar.
"How'd ya know I'd be here Abby," the Islander alum quizzed, but Abby wasn't there for simple small-talk. She was smiling though, which meant that she had something positive to report to him directly.
"Mr. Gilmore, I've got some news for you. You've been no-billed," she spoke. "You don't have to worry about anything anymore."
At that moment, James Gilmore began to cry tears of joy, that he can finally be able to put his legal troubles behind him and get back to work. Yet deep within his soul, he still felt uncertain--after all, he wasn't sure whether or not he would stil have a job to come back to. "I...I-I-I dunno if I'm gonna be welcomed back or not. Some might call me a killer that got away with it," he said.
The two women shook their heads. "Don't let anyone bring you down by telling you that rubbish," Abby said as she smiled at her new friend. She then pointed at the box that read "FOR YOUR EYES ONLY...JAMES" as he took a big sip from his beer.
"I was able to pull a few strings and do some digging for you on the Grawns; you can peruse the package when you get back to your place," she announced as Mikhail Federov, Gilmore's buddy and bodyguard, strolled in from the McDonald's across Alameda, carrying several bags of food. Yet Faulkner wanted to warn James about the contents of the box--for she had found that he might not be able to process its contents.
"If you do, however, be warned...you're not gonna like what I found out."
TO BE CONTINUED...
Well howdy there pardner.