We walked in the shade, along the red, weathered side of a defunct Albers Feed Store. "Excuse me for asking, but isn't Chief of Police an elected office around here?" Gardner gave a derisive snort and stopped in his tracks. "So they keep reminding me." "So, why all the animosity?" "Because I insist on acting like a policeman. I had the nerve to enforce the parking regulations, and I don't want drunks driving all over the valley on Saturday nights," he said bitterly. "Sounds reasonable to me," I said. "That makes two of us, then. The guy I replaced, Marvin Hansen, he'd been sheriff for forty-one years. He dropped dead three months ago over at the cafe." "And you inherited the job." "In all Marvin's time, nobody ever got a parking ticket. Nobody ever put money in the meters. Everybody ignored the burning ban. If you got drunk and broke up one of the bars, Marvin just drove you home. If you crashed your truck driving dead drunk, Marvin drove you home and called a wrecker for you." "Probably explains his job security." This trenchant observation got me another snort.
