Vince dismounted, and strolled over to the doors of the building. There was still a plaque out front which read ‘OPP Det. 42 Blackstock,’ and the words ‘Police Station’ were still emblazoned above the double doors, but the last peace officer had died long ago; with only a hundred-or-so locals there was no need for a lawman.
The front desk and the small office portion just inside the door remained essentially unchanged from the prewar days; a pair of clerks worked at the desks, and the Councilman had taken over the Chief’s office. The rest of the building was dedicated to storage, housing the machinery and supplies that were commonly owned and seldomly used.
“Well, if it isn’t Vince McCullough!” The receptionist’s face lit up as he entered; the blue whorls on her cheeks enhancing her crimson hair, “And such good timing, too! There’s a stranger in town — hey, I’ll bet Councilman Vree will want to see you about him! Give me a sec to ask her.”
Without giving Vince a chance to reply, she got up and dashed around the corner to alert the Councilman.
She came back and grabbed Vince by the hand, pulling him towards the office, “Yes, she wants to see you right away! Ooh, I hope you get your booth set up soon. Have you brought in any more of that Yorker jewellery you had last time? I showed my cousin Connie the necklace I bought from you, and she loves it and wants one of her own! Okay, just go right in, I’ll see you later Vince!”
Vince closed the door behind him. He looked at the Councilman and let out a sigh.
“She could talk the leg off a mule,” he said.
“Ai, youth!” Vree smiled gently. She was one of the oldest citizens of Blackstock, and had been the Councilman for as long as Vince had been trading there. She wore her mantle with a grandmotherly air. The two of them had always gotten on, and she, more than anyone else, realized how valuable Vince’s trade was to Blackstock. “There’s times I think Marie does more of the running of this place than I. She’s always dumping the next job on my lap ‘fore I even figured out what it’s going to be, and she’s usually got it’s fixing, too. Ah, well. I suppose she told you why you’re in here, instead of seeing to your stall?”
“She said something about a stranger in town.”
Vree laughed, “She just ran in here telling me about how Vince had just shown up, and that she’d bring him in to see if he knew anything about the stranger. Not that I’m complaining, it’s what I would have done later this afternoon — but you see what I mean about her doing the job for me?” She chuckled, eyes glowing, as Vince slouched back in a chair.
“Yes, we’ve got a stranger in town. He ain’t done nothing yet, and you’ll see him soon enough, he’s-a staying with the Landfalls, like you always do, but he’s creeped out some of the boys that met him, and, well… Vince, here’s the thing; he came out of the East. No one’s ever done that before. So he’s got some heads buzzing.”
Vince frowned when he heard this. Blackstock was the last settlement, as far as he knew.
“So I’m glad that you decided to show up so quick-like after he did. I’m thinking that, if this fellow’s trouble, then maybe you’ve heard a thing or two about him; you merchants get around a fair bit more than us. So, Vince, you ever hear of a man called Wentworth?”
Vince had been growing bemused as Vree went on. These smaller towns always got upset whenever a stranger showed up, and it was funny how they’d assume that a merchant would know anything about some derelict passing through. He couldn’t blame them, though; they didn’t have the perspective to understand the size of the civ out West…
But his train of thought had derailed when Vree mentioned the name.
“Wait — did you say Wentworth?”
“Wentworth, ai.”
“Dark hair, dressed in black leather, with a motorcycle and a long-gun of some sort?”
“Well! I couldn’t say about the last two, but that’s what he looks like. Wait now, motor… he and that other boy, from out West like you, Raxx; they’re out right now trying to fix some machine of his. Ai, maybe it’s the motor-sike you just mentioned. What’ve you heard about him, Vince?”
Vince leaned back in his chair, thumbing his road-beard, buying himself some time. The whole thing was ridiculously provincial — but he had heard the name.
“Honestly… not much. But, well — I’ve heard something — which is saying a whole lot right there. Back in Sauga, say, a month back, I was chatting with some guys from the North-Route. We were sharing stories about what’s going on all over the place, and a bunch of them mentioned this guy called Wentworth, out of a place called the Ottawa Vale.
“Seems this lad’s been going around from town to town on his motorcycle and trouble comes along with him. Some say he’s causing the trouble, others say it’s someone else hunting him. The stories — they’re all mixed up, and the merchants — well, they all admit that they’ve only got second-hand information to go on, that they don’t really know. North-Routers are good that way; they don’t make stuff up just to impress. But that’s pretty much all they said.
“Now it’s been about a month since I talked to ’em, two months since they’ve been out there — so we’re talking the beginning of spring. And all of that happened a fair ways from here, up Northwards. So I dunno, Vree, I can’t tell you what to do. But I’d be careful of him if I were you.”
She shook her head sadly. “Ai… we’ve been through rough spots before… but honestly, Vince, I’m getting too old for this. The East.” The stillness of her frame spoke louder than a shudder. “We never had to deal with anything from there before…” She steepled her fingers together, and leaned back in her chair thinking for a few moments. “It’s all dead, you know?”
She stared down at her desk. Dust motes danced through the beams of light coming in through the windows. “Well, I guess I’ll send Marie down the fields, tell her to get Elmo and who, deputize ’em. When they gets back we’ll take care of Wentworth. Tell him head on out there. Back out East. I hope this ain’t a trend starting.”
“Whoa, hold on a sec there, Councilman; you said he ain’t done nothin’ yet.” He shook his head in confusion, damn these locals! “He ain’t caused trouble, or even mouthed off anyone, aye?”
“Ai… he ain’t… I would’ve heard if he had. But you said he’s dangerous, so why’re you being so milk with him now?”
“Aside from the fact that he ain’t done nothing but have a name? Well, Councilman, I’ve got another reason, and it’s pretty big and hairy. First of all, if he’s the guy I heard about, then he’s somebody who’s survived long enough to make a name for himself. Trying to kick him out wouldn’t do no good, it’d just piss him off. Trust me on this.
“And second of all, there’s something you folks don’t know about derelicts — sure, they’re trouble out between places, but when they’re in town they’re usually pretty quiet. You leave them alone, they leave you alone.
“That’s what all the burgs do out West; they don’t mess with the derelicts as long as they’re abiding at the time. That saves trouble, ‘cause maybe they ain’t a derelicts after all — and what more, maybe chasing them off is more trouble than it’s worth. Now, if for some reason, the law does come after these boys, well, they ain’t the type to go quietly. Like I said, trying to take down this Wentworth, or kick him out, or whatever, just runs the risk of pissing him off. And that ain’t something you wanna do — if he’s the guy.”