Majar was on the outs. In a depressive drunken haze, he wallowed. The song “Louie Louie” had been playing in the background on repeat. He had failed to catch the Jeremya’s before they had done what they had done. He knew they were both in massive amounts of debt, in particular Jeffrey had bought a massive 48-foot lobster boat before the government had announced that they had closed everyone off from going fishing for the entire year at minimum, and he hadn’t been able to sell it to anyone else.

Majar finished another rum and diet cola. How was he supposed to know they would go berserk, when they could have just sold drugs like any normal person in that situation would have done. With him, and his deputy letting them off the hook days before the incident, and this being extensively reported as a talking point on the news meant a lot of attention he didn’t want. His daughter Erin had been addicted to social media, and she had been using the new phone he had bought her for Christmas to vent about hating him and other officers online, but now even she was saying he should have detained the suspects at gunpoint and used harder force. He hoped she would understand him better someday, that somebody had to do the job, and do it by the book while being a broken human not a robot.

As a young man he had been locked out of the good old boys club for being too honest. It was only now as he was approaching 50 years of age, and the big dogs were retiring that he could actually do anything to enact change at the outdated department. Of course he listened to his daughters' criticisms and opinions with open ears, and when they were negative it affected him; however that wasn’t what really had him racked inside the mind.

After years and years of dealing with so much misery he still somehow had a thin skin, and psyche. He was too emotional and at times like these it was costing him dearly. Majar had always thought of the ideal detective as a Sherlock type but he wasn’t that at all, and he had figured out a long time ago the unfortunate reality that his personality wasn’t going to change. His dream job of being in a national security position had long died, and the days keep dragging on almost a decade now of being unable to talk romantically with women. Not that he had much success on that front, his one child had been a one night stand with no mother in her life, and the longest relationship he ever had was only a little over a year before she had left him due to his deteriorating mental health. Seeing the latest shot up bodies he had grown up with of the two men being lifted off the boat is just the thing that happened to push his life back into the gutter. A few more days of drinking alone before he would shower and call a lady of the night for a visit.

"Buzz. Buzz. Buzz" his phone was vibrating loudly somewhere

The sheriff got up slowly before he was looking frantically for the location of the lost device. He had to have put it somewhere, maybe his pants by the side of the couch or perhaps on the edge of the sink came the thought as he was holding the empty pocket overturned.

"Smash!"

"God fucking damn it" he cried from the floor his arms having broken the fall.

"Buzz, Buzz, Buzz" continued the phone taunting him from somewhere.

Majar stayed still on the floor, and as the phone kept going, he began to cry. He would have a moment of weakness and then call them back. To him this was something much more shameful to be seen in than any rendezvous he had ever paid for. Life had taught him that being emotional was a grave weakness that would be ruthlessly exploited unless he hid them all away from the crowd. Keeping the shame of crying a secret to all but himself.

Drool had rolled out of his open mouth seeping the rug in moisture that smelled like booze and tobacco. The lights in the room had dimmed, and his head hurt.

“WOOF, WOOF, WOOF” the dog was barking at something faintly.

Majar was shocked back awake, remembering the animal had been left outside while he had passed out in a pool of misery. Instantly he climbed to his feet, gave himself a smack to sober himself, and then a few more on the way to his door.

Outside a car had parked in the drive and the dog was standing by the door barking at the guest.

“shit, shit” said Majar rushing out of his house in a dash to reach the collar.

“I'm very sorry I'll be right back” he yelled over his shoulder dragging the beast inside.

“Oh that's alright I know he wouldn’t hurt me” called the familiar voice from the car.

Majar came back out racking his poisoned mind for who the hell it was, but it was drawing blanks. Finally he got to the window to investigate.

“How's it going?” Allen Smith hollered.

“Oh your back from Florida, I figured you were a resident down there”

“You look like shit” said the driver.

“I've been uhm sick and napping,” said the sheriff.

“Uh huh we'll get in unless it’s the black death. I ain't gonna be here too long, and we got some very important things to take care of”.

“Where we headed?” asked the cop, lighting a stogie that had been half smoked before he was in the passenger seat of the waiting Eldorado.

The driver didn’t answer. They went past the RV camper the neighbors slept in, and a small home with lobster traps stacked in front acting as a makeshift fence to hide them from view.

“So I saw our friend when I was back in the swampland,” said the driver.

“Oh you did, how did that go? '' asked the passenger.

“Good, good” said Allen, stopping at a red sign before the road took on white and yellow lines.

“Hey there’s some napkins in the glove box, better spit in one and tidy yourself up chief” he finished.

“Huh where are we going?” said Majar coming out of his dull haze of sleepiness with the realization they might be going somewhere out in public

“Big meeting at the town office. You're wanted there by many” said the driver, peeling out quickly, and burning rubber.

Majar had just enough time to do a quick wipe of his face and slick his thinning hair back with spit as the car came to the front of the Loony town office. The building was right in the middle of town and the fire department was downstairs. The parking lot was full and so was every side of the street around them.

“I'll park us down by the pier,” said Allen driving past.

The front door to the town office swung open revealing the loud voices of many people inside. It was a small entry lined with smaller offices of various positions, and leading to another opened door. All the side rooms sat unintended except one where somebody could be heard registering a truck. Beyond all that was a rectangular room packed with a crowd like a sardine can. The crowd was all talking among each other, and this blended together into one undistinguishable noise. The sheriff stopped in the doorway, and all became quiet.

“How's it going?” said Majar.

The crowd erupted again with chatter until one dominant voice could overpower the others.

“Are you going to do something about all these thugs in our town or aren’t you” cried the lanky man, stepping forward.

“Yeah” and “that's right” others called.

“Now we have had the conversation before. You know that they aren't breaking the law so there's only so much I can do” said the sheriff.

“Well actually we have passed a law now” yelled the man back.

“That’s right, local ordinance is now in effect” said Allen pushing past “Us selectmen have passed a new law and from now on there will be no rich peoples thugs patrolling. Pinkers are outlawed” he said, raising a fist as cheers erupted.

“We will be terrorized by private corporate controlled armies no more” screamed somebody.

“And if you don’t arrest them we will start our own militia ” yelled Allen to more cheers.

“Now let's all calm down. I'll have a talk with them for sure uh even if I don't arrest them, there are ways for me to ticket them and harass them out of here” said Majar trying to reach some kind of compromise.

A young man barged into the back door setting off a ringing alarm.

“Their meeting right now at the Mooring cafe. Talking about taking our land right in public just to rub it in our face!” he yelled.

“Lets get over there and give em hell!”

“Yeah!”

“time to kick their asses!” came from the crowd as it surged out the door pushing and pulling in the commotion to be first to the fight.

Majar ran back out the main entrance knocking over a man trying to beat him out the door as he went. Allen was talking to a group near a car as the sheriff ran out.

“I need to be there,” he said, running down the street to the cafe.

The sidewalk was stuffed with the crowd from the town hall all marching towards the same destination. Loud voices and beeping from cars was all that could be heard, increasing sounds and energy with every step forward. It was a quick walk that seemed to take forever.

When he got there a large gathering was already waiting outside. Some held hastily marked cardboard signs with angry marker messages to what they believed to be an occupying force. A man with a white apron who must have worked at the establishment ran outside.

“They're going out the back,” he yelled.

Majar jogged through the back alley as the crowd followed behind. When he arrived at the parking lot in back of the cafe, he saw two men in suits climbing into a fancy car as townspeople swarmed out from many paths. The car had begun to move to the one exit that was now blocked.

“Get out of the way!” Majar yelled, running to clear the path.

The car did not stop, and as the sheriff ran to help a group of old women out of the way he was plowed over in plainclothes. The crowd went silent, as the fancy car could be heard accelerating to get away down the alley as people jumped onto trash cans and climbed pipes to get out of the way before squealing tires could be heard driving off.

“Back the fuck up!” said a man in pink holding a synthetic semi auto with two others following as they rushed the body.

The mob on seeing the Pinkers thugs became further enraged, blocking them off from their fallen sheriff as they tried to help him.

“Let us in, we can help him” yelled Ronnie the squad leader.

“Fuck you” was sent back with balls of spit and flying beer bottles smashing on the ground.

One of the thugs aimed his rifle over the crowd's heads at the harbor sitting behind them. He began to fire, as the crowd dispersed slightly. Screams and sobbing could be heard while one of three paramilitary men tried to provide what little medical attention they had been trained for before the ambulance would eventually arrive. The other two stood guard with guns trained on the crowd ready to shoot to kill them without hesitation.