One January Morning, Part 11
When he hit the floor, the cop began to cackle. As he choked back tears, he said, “I had been hoping for a little head.”
Morgan stood, whirling about, waiting for his reinforcements, ready to take on the world, but no one came. The door stayed shut, and she sensed no commotion in the air behind the darkened glass of the room’s one window.
“What’s going on here?” said Morgan.
“I don’t know,” said the cop, as he staggered to his feet. “Why don’t you tell me?”
Morgan sat back down and considered her options. The fastest way to uncover the truth she was looking for might be to cooperate, now that sheer obnoxiousness had not gotten her any closer to where she needed to be.
“Well,” said the cop, as he took a seat opposite her again. “Go on. Tell me what brings you into the midst of we landlubbers?”
“I have come,” said Morgan, “to free the Dread Pirate—”
“Roberts?” said the cop, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes,” said Morgan, alarmed. “How did you know?”
The cop answered not with words, but with laughter, great boisterous peals of it.
To be continued…