Early Saturday morning he felt as though he’d spent the night at a fraternity party rather than the sheriff’s office. He shook his head, a thing he’d been doing since midnight, at the reaction of the parents to their children’s arrest in the raid at the Pit, or Cauldron, or whatever it was called. He naively believed that they would be grateful for having their kids snatched back from an event and behaviors that they would never have countenanced in their own youth. He was wrong. The complaints and threats leveled at the deputies, at Frank Sutherlin, and at him were shocking. What, he wondered, had happened to society when parents taught their children to distrust and disrespect authority? Schoolteachers, police and clergy were all experiencing the same phenomenon. He’d seen it before, but never as vituperative and open as last night. He dropped an antacid in a glass of water and watched as it danced and fizzed in a glass. Oddly, it had been Barbara Starkey who, although she came into the station complaining and accusing everyone in sight at the top of her lungs, calmed down the earliest.
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