CHAPTER ONE
Alex Taylor
awoke to a stream of bright sunlight coming in through the half closed plastic
blinds, of the living room window, in the small efficiency apartment in
Penobscot, New Hampshire.
It was a sleepy
little community, nestled among the rugged mountain ranges in the northern part
of the state. It had a regular population of fewer than ten thousand residents,
but those numbers had swollen to nearly fifteen thousand, now that summer had
arrived, due to its location on Lake Moriah.
The lake was
renowned for its bass fishing, hosting both state and national championships
every year. Its proximity to Northern New Hampshire University also ensured
that it was a summer mecca for students.
The small room
smelled of stale cigarettes and whiskey, both of which presently occupied a
space on the oak end table that doubled as a night stand when the sleeper couch
was open. Directly under the front window an old wall mounted air conditioning
unit struggled to keep the interior of the room cool, even as the late July
temperatures outside steadily gained traction on the thermometer.
Even at six
a.m. it was brutally hot and humid.
The apartment
itself was located up on the second floor and was smaller than most of the
other units. However, beggars couldn’t be choosers, especially at this time of
the year. Finding an available house or apartment in Penobscot wasn’t exactly
an easy affair. It depended more on who you knew or, more importantly, how you
were related to them.
The sleeper
couch occupied the majority of the front of the room and was positioned
directly across from where an old 27” color TV sat on a faux oak entertainment
center. A small kitchenette took up the other half. It came furnished with a
1950’s era chrome and Formica topped table along with two matching chairs with
red vinyl seats. The bathroom was in the back, next to the rear door which led
out onto a small wrought iron patio. It would be a couple of months before
sitting outside would be a viable option.
Taylor rolled
over and sat up with a groan, fighting the urge to go back to sleep. It would
be a futile attempt as the alarm on the cell phone would be going off in a few
minutes anyway. Still, it didn’t make it any easier to get up.
The half-finished
bottle of scotch sitting next to the glass tumbler was far too appealing a
target to pass up.
“Hair of the
dog,” Taylor said and knocked back the freshly poured shot.
The feel of the
cool liquid on the back of the throat quickly turned into a warming sensation.
It felt good, in that old familiar sort of way. Taylor then reached over to
grab the pack of cigarettes, tapping one out and lighting it, before drawing in
the first breath deeply.
Alex sat on the
edge of the bed, letting the combination of the morning sun; whiskey and a
cigarette achieve the process of waking up.
As appealing as
the thought was of staying in bed, or finishing off the remainder of the bottle
for that matter, this was an important new day. As if on cue, the cell phone
began to chirp its exceedingly annoying alarm ring tone.
Alex crushed
out the remains of the cigarette then got up and headed across the room,
flipping the switch on the coffee maker, before going to the bathroom.
The apartment
itself might have been uncomfortably small, but it did have one thing going for
it, water pressure. Taylor stood under the spray, feeling the stinging
sensation of the hot water.
After delaying
the inevitable as long as possible it was time to turn the water off. Taylor
stepped out of the shower and stood in front of the mirror which was now
shrouded in moisture. There was a
threadbare washcloth on the counter which Alex used to wipe away the
condensation and stood there looking into the mirror.
At thirty-seven
years of age Alex Taylor was far from old, but the carefree days of youthful
indiscretion were now only distant memories. Still, age had certainly been
kind. This was a fact that took on much more significance when one considered
the battle scars borne from having spent over a decade and a half in the rough
and tumble world of law enforcement.
Taylor had
started with the NYPD in 1995, spending most of that time as a police officer
in Brooklyn North, one of the toughest proving grounds in New York City. Hell,
for that matter, Brooklyn North was one of the toughest proving grounds in the
entire United States. It was one of those places where you either survived or
you were simply chewed up and spit out. It tested the mettle of the strongest
men, let alone a lanky, wide eyed girl from the well-manicured lawns and white
picket fences of suburban Long Island.
Small Town Secrets
by Andrew G. Nelson
