Red Flags

Doug Donnan

Executive Editor GTNW/OM-GEN+

donnan.doug@yahoo.com

                     

 

Red Flags

by

Doug Donnan

 

                     

                 [ Somewhere along the northern Oregon coast line ]

     The resolute slash of the angry rip tide out across the second tier of splashing
white-water breakers was more than enough reason for the hoisting of the double
red flags.

                   

                                    [ THE BEACH IS CLOSED! ]

     The horrendous surf and weather conditions were a godsend to Sheriff Israel

Lohm and his team of steadfast police officers as they began their thankless patrol

of the extensive shoreline.  

     “Well, let me just set you straight on sumthin’ right off the bat Miss Broadbeam,”

Sheriff Lohm began rather condescendingly as he squinted a look down at the little

wind-blown, ballpoint pen-ready Associated Press reporter.

     “Lootin’ is lootin’ no matter how you choose to define it. And I ain’t about to

have none of that kinda’ evilness goin’ on out on these here beaches. Not on my

watch it won’t missy…comprende-vu?”

     “I am really not here to question your dedication to duty sheriff,” she replied

evenly. “Quite frankly, I am more concerned about the reported shootings out here

on this beach late last night. Two innocent strolling victims, apparently, shot down

just like that… no warning, no anything!  I can’t corroborate any of this of course,

but it would seem to me that if—   

     “If’ that did happen,” he cut in rudely, “the suspects were takin’ their moonlight

stroll in a highly restricted, and I dare say dangerous area. Don’t you see that yellow

police tape that we got stretched out in front of this here beach? All this freakin’

stuff that we got floatin’ up here on this beach is the property of some far off folks

in Japan. It’s gonna’ take quite a good bit of time to sort this whole damn mess out.

So, until that time comes, it would behoove lovers and looters alike…to conduct their

moonlit business elsewhere.”

     She brushed back the whipping wisps of her long dark chocolate hair and stopped

short there in the crunching wet sand and shells. “Suspects? So they were shot and

killed… just like that?”

     The sheriff pulled up in kind and stared a steely ice-eyed look out into the crashing

waves. “I can tell you this one thing for a fact my fair ladybug, King James version

lists the commandments from one to ten pretty as you please. Number eight is...

‘Thou shalt not steal.’  I’m a very religious man and a sworn officer of the law around

here,” he declared as he slapped at the blue-black holstered pistol on his hip. “That

gives me two strikes up on anybody who crosses the line.”

      She turned about alongside him with all the grace and aplomb of the prima ballerina

Alicia Alonso. She raised her pointed chin with nothing short of defiance to the cold

needles of the sea’s intimidating spindrift. “Indeed, all that is true sheriff,” she offered

back coolly with a retracting pinch on her pen top.

     “However, as God is our divine witness, my daddy taught me from the pages of that

very same Bible. If I recall, number six commanded 'Thou shalt not kill'… comprende?”

                               

                                                            ___ The End