Majar was elected sheriff, so he couldn't be discharged. He was even running for reelection sometime soon unopposed, but the politics of this job still had him pissed off. He was only left with the drunk and disorderly cases; Federal was interested in all the other ones.

He sat grumpy, patrolling the streets in his big Lincoln town car, 22 years old. March 15th, he got word of a sexual assault at the dive bar. He parked outside in the handicap, flipping his old school shades on.

Two Pinkers painted trucks with pig stickers stuck on the doors were in the parking lot. A lot of local girls and local boys were hanging around inside the bar. It was a ticking bomb of violent energy ready to turn at any moment into a savage mob beatdown directed at an out of state predator operating without restrain of his retched impulses.

This was one of the few cases the old sheriff of Crust county who had served in the 80s nicknamed"Screwdrivah" would have probably been correct to take care of under the table and out in the marshes. Unfortunately times had changed, and Majar had never been the type for such lawless enforcement anyway.

Majar walked into the “fishingfiends bar”, dim lights, and nu-disco country greeted him as well as Bob the bar man. A flashed badge got him in.

One of the Pinker boys was pinned to the floor, another swung a heavy chair at a crowd of locals egging him on before one pounced from behind and zipped his arms together shut.

"These the gentleman that been sexually harassing?" screamed Majar over the loud music.

The man pinning the Pinker to the floor was nodding, as a lady had taken a seat drinking a beer on top of the captives head.

"Well c'mon get up and help me get 'em to my car" said the sheriff.

Both Pinkers picked up and went into the police cruiser for a trip to the jail a few towns over. They spent a few nights being jokers in the county pen, but things would get much less friendly every day after that and by the time those two got out they were gone out of town for good.