***PLEASE NOTE: Police language has been modified for the Website!

Jesus H. Christ, Fred said to himself as he ran through the rain to his police car parked outside 105. Younger deputies bolted past him, racing each other to their police cruisers. They couldn't wait to begin the shift. "Back up rookie, ya missed one," he yelled at a new deputy who splashed through puddles like a kid in his first rain. This kid, however, carried a gun and a badge. Part of the new, younger generation. "Jeez," Fred said under his breath. Midnight shift was hard enough to work without fighting the rain, the cold weather and your age.

"M 108?" asked Sergeant S.A.M. Washington over the police radio trying to find Deputy Harvey.

"M 108, outside 105," answered Fred from inside the dry police car he'd just entered. The rain rolled off his rain jacket onto the microphone. Rolling his eyes upward toward his forehead, he suspected that soon be would be running back through the rain into 105 to meet the voice calling him.

"Fred, come back inside 105 to see me," asked Sergeant Washington whose frustration was evident. In her zest to be nice, Lieutenant Howell allowed too many deputies off from tonight's midnight shift. It meant a shortage of deputies and only one sergeant who needed help.

The personnel shortage and the cold wet weather added to the sergeants aggravation. He couldn't cover his duties and the lieutenant's responsibilities of managing the shift. It was a comfort to Sergeant S.A.M. to be able to call upon a seasoned deputy like Fred, who would be willing to assist him whenever he was in a tight spot. That is, once Fred got over his irritability of being called back out into the rain and cold.

Jesus H. Christ, he thought, why hadn't the sergeant said something to him before he went outside? Exiting into the rain, Fred ran through the puddles while hurriedly huffing for air and the dryness of the sheriffs office. Walking through the Patrol Assembly Room, Fred brushed off the water and aggravation as he approached Sergeant Washington.

"Yessssir, you wanted to see me."

"Sorry to call you back. With the lieutenant off sick tonight, I need some help. I forgot to ask you earlier. I was hurrying to post the sector assignments. The good news, my friend, is I need you to fill in for me tonight, while I play 'Lieutenant'. The bad news is you will be required to work your sector. That means I can't give you the pay differential for filling in for me. Mostly, I need you to pick up the east side squad reports.

"A cold front is stalled over the Panhandle, the scattered rain and cold should keep everyone inside and out of trouble. Hopefully, it will be quiet tonight and there won't be many reports. Once the bars close at 2 AM, please begin picking up reports from the squad. I'm meeting Sergeant Bums at 0400 in Dalton. Why don't you join us there for coffee? Is that all fight with you?"

"Yeah, Sergeant, no problem; I'll be glad to help." Fred wiped the rain droplets sliding off his bald forehead with a handkerchief. "Sergeant S.A.M., I'm going outside now, and if you're counting, it will be my second time outside."

Jokingly he commented, "You won't be chasin' me around the rain anymore, will ya?"

Grinning at his wet friend, the sergeant replied, "Nah, not unless I change my mind. You know rank has its privileges."

Fortunately, for Olustee deputies the constant cold sprinkled with periodic rain kept the most seasoned troublemakers inside warm and dry places, out of everyone's way. When police work is slow, due to bad weather, deputies hole up to avoid the weather or aggressively patrol their geographical areas looking for something to keep them busy.

Mark rode past Junior's topless bar several times looking for action. Even a harmless drunk, especially one he disliked, would fill the void of his boredom. Sidney rode about the various sectors looking to assist a deputy with a crime scene, but none was found. Sergeant Washington also searched the sectors for something to keep the deputies busy before they began to fall asleep, especially after 2 AM when the bars closed. To relieve the boredom, the deputies called each other to meet somewhere for comforting conversation.

"M101 from M108," Fred called to Mark.

"M 101, I'm at East 45 Boulevard and Main Street, do you want to meet at this location?" 

"10-4."

A closed gas station at the East 45 Boulevard intersection provided shelter from the rain. Under its rusting canopy, the deputies could get out of the cruisers, stretch and gossip. Sidney heard his friend's radio conversation and began driving toward them. He hadn't seen them yet, now was as good a time as any to meet with them. The old gas station would be a good place to see his friends and maybe hear something of interest.

Mark stood with his hands up in the air as though he was being robbed. Freddie parked under the canopy beside Mark's patrol car. "Hey Freddie," he yawned while standing on his tiptoes to complete his arm stretches.

Mark's yawn was infectious; Fred opened his mouth for additional air while stepping from the car. "Don't get many quiet Saturday nights do we! Damn it's cold, let me get my jacket. Heard from Sidney?" asked Fred through his yawn.

"I saw him drive past me once tonight. He was going over to the burglary  Bruce was working. He should be headin' this way if he heard us on the radio. Matter of fact, here he comes now."

"Hey, Sidney," yelled Fred as the van came to a stop, "let's eat at Granny Macs this morning. I'd like some hand-sliced ham with my eggs this morning."

"Can't," Sidney replied walking toward his friends. "You know the sergeant doesn't want three deputies at the same restaurant. It's against departmental policy."

"We know that, but tonight I'm actin' sergeant, even though I'm not getting paid for it. And, as you know mister, I too can quote written directives, and three deputies can be at the same restaurant if one of them is a supervisor." Pointing at his chest with his thumb, to emphasize his temporary position, "That be's me. So are we on for breakfast?"

"Yeah, why not Sergeant Fred," replied Sidney.

"I'm in," said Mark walking toward his police car. "Are you also picking up reports for Sarge? All I've got is one small breaking and entering to a vehicle report. Sidney, I didn't call you to process it for fingerprints. The car was wet inside and out."

"Can't dust in wet weather," Sidney said dancing in place to keep warm. "Listen guys, it's too cold for me. I'm getting back inside my van to stay warm; see you both at breakfast in a few hours. Call me when y'all are ready."

"It's gettin' past 2:30, let me take your report, Mark, and get goin'. I still have to get the rest of the reports. I got to get on the road, all the drunk drivers should be home by now and out of my way."

"See ya later."

The drive toward the small city of Dalton was unhindered. The rain had momentarily stopped.

No vehicular traffic slowed Fred's drive to the northwest side of the county. Turning onto County Road 34 from Roosevelt Avenue, Deputy Harvey saw the taillights of the only other vehicle on the road.

The red lights belonged to a gold Pontiac Firebird with dark tinted windows. In Olustee County only one person drove a vehicle with that description. Fred needed one more piece of information to confirm his suspicions. Accelerating to close in on the Pontiac, his suspicions were verified.

The personalized Florida license tag read "JR." The car weaved from side to side across the two lanes separated by double yellow lines. Looking ahead, Fred saw a safe place to stop the Firebird off the roadway. Reaching for the siren and visibar switches on the dashboard, Fred flipped on the wail and the colored lights. He knew this driver. There was no need to bother the dispatcher with proper radio procedures for stopping drunk or suspicious drivers. Nor would Fred bother any of the deputies by asking for their assistance, especially on this cold and damp morning. The traffic stop would only take a moment, Fred thought. Junior could probably get by with a verbal warning.

The blare from the siren got his attention. "Damn, " Dale B. McCorkel said out loud upon seeing the blue and red lights following him in his rear view mirror. Business had been slow and Junior knew he had drunk too much. During the business hours of 6 PM-2 AM, Junior casually drank an unusual amount of ram and cokes with his regular customers while they watched the girls entertain them.

McCorkle also knew that everyone in the Olustee community, especially the law enforcement community, recognized his car. If he didn't stop soon, he'd get charged with trying to elude a deputy.

McCorkle figured he'd wind up in jail on another trumped up charge. instead of just D.U.I. Like Fred, McCorkle was familiar with this roadway. He drove it day and night going from his house to work and back. Up ahead, a dirt road ran off of the paved county road. It's where he would stop and hopefully talk the deputy out of putting him in jail.

Turning right onto the narrow dirt road, Junior stopped 75 feet off the surfaced road. It was an isolated area populated by pine trees and palmetto scrubs. It was a good place to ask for forgiveness from the deputy. Asking for something or saying I'm sorry were gestures Junior didn't do in front of others.

Both cars came to a stop, the police car stopping less than twenty feet behind the Pontiac Firebird. The spinning roof lights were turned off. The headlights were set on bright beams to better illuminate the interior of the Firebird. From the driver's side mirror, Junior saw a deputy step outside the police car and shift his gun belt to a more comfortable position. With flashlight in hand, the darkened deputy walked through the mud towards him. A slight rain began to fall as soon as he reached the driver's side window. The gentle tap on the glass from the flashlight meant for Junior to lower the window.

"Junior?" asked the once familiar voice.

Quickly turning backwards toward the driver's side window, Junior responded, "Fred?" That was his best response. He had seen Fred Harvey over the years, but it had always been on the worst of terms. Tonight, there were -no barriers to protect them. Normally, Fred had Olustee's rookies doing the talking for him while he sat at a comfortable distance inside a police car.

In an instant, the past came back to Junior. For a brief moment he thought of Uncle Freddie, but it was rapidly washed away by the pain of the present. Fred, too, had momentarily been gripped by the past. But his thoughts were for D.B. and the fondness they had shared, not the pain he had caused. Seconds slowly passed through the uneasy quietness. Deputy Harvey interrupted the silence.

"Yeah, its me. You've been drinking too much tonight to be drivin', Son. You can get hurt drinking and driving, Junior!" Fred's expressed concern caught Junior by surprise. Was this the same man who 12 years ago allowed his father to be killed? A man whose negligence had caused his family to lose their home, their dignity, their lives. The same man who casually attempted to help the McCorkle family, but never made the necessary changes in his personal life to make theirs better. To Junior, his relationship with Fred Harvey had been damaged beyond repair since D.B's death. There was something Junior did recognize in Fred. It was the nervousness, the uncertainty of his speech.

"Did you say I could get hurt? Did you also call me son?" asked McCorkle while lifting the inside door handle to get out. Taught to be a cautious person, Deputy Harvey allowed Junior to exit the car and close in on him. Fred wasn't afraid of Junior, he had no reason to be. Junior continued his press, forcing Fred between the police car and the Pontiac Firebird.

Like his father, Dale B. McCorkle II, was a tall man but possessed more bulk than D.B. Dressed casually in khaki pants with brown deck shoes, he wore a heavy brown windbreaker that covered a red and beige long-sleeve shirt. Junior sensed a weakness about Fred this morning. He looked down on Fred with his height and with his attitude. They were close to each other. Fred could smell alcohol on Junior's breath. His physical closeness concerned Fred, but he didn't want to appear weak. Choosing not to use his portable radio attached to his shoulder, he looked at inevitability. He would deal with this anamnesis moment without back-up assistance. It was not too late for regrets. Nor was it too late to make a difference.

"Fred, don't you ever lecture me on hurting and don't call me son. I was only 16 years old when your carelessness caused the death of my father, leaving my mother and me alone forever. Your friendship kills." Junior saw the past differently than Fred.

"You're right, Junior, it was carelessness." Fred turned pale from the unintentional disclosure. Though the police car headlights provided some illumination, the light hid most of Fred's face. But with the slip of the tongue, even Junior saw the facial flush through the darkness.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing D.B., I mean Junior, nothing."

Twelve years of frustration became loud. Junior again asked, "What did you say? I clearly  remember that Daddy's death was classified as an unsolved murder. You just said it was carelessness. You owe me an explanation. What the hell happened that morning? What are you talking about?"

Fred's self-confidence had been shaken by Junior's demands. Like the rain falling off the raincoat, his self assurance fell away. His conscious desperately sought freedom from the past. The haunting anguish of D.B.'s death, coupled with Junior's confrontation, brought forth a need to cleanse himself of his painful secret. Only truth would set him free from the recurring trauma Of D.B.'s death. Dropping his head as if his neck was suddenly broken, Fred spoke softly and humbly.

"It was an accident."

Fred's spontaneous confession stunned Junior. Reactively, he physically struck out at Fred. "No, no, don't tell me you've been hiding something from me all of these years." The force Junior's palms on Fred's shoulders caused him to fall backwards, splashing into the mud.

Instinctively, Deputy Harvey reached for his weapon. Fred was scared and alone. The awkwardness of sitting slowed his reaction time. Junior's youth and anger proved faster. Reaching behind his back into his waistband, Junior pulled out a black steel handgun. McCorkle pointed the snub-nosed, 38-cal. handgun at his enemy. "What exactly are you trying to say to me?' Conceding to Juniors overwhelming physical strength and mental force, Fred carefully placed his hands in his lap. The blue steel handgun was lowered away from Fred's eyes that looked right into Junior's face.