that shows up on the periphery. Weâve always got to remember theyâre here to prey on the good people who were here before the boom and the new folks who are living the dream. Our job is to protect the good folks and make sure the bad guys get punished. Simple as that.â
He sighed. âIt used to be that if I ran across Ole the farmer out driving drunk after a big night of whiskey drinking and polka dancing, Iâd follow him home to make sure he was okay and he didnât hurt anyone else. Maybe give him a stern warning or something. We canât do that kind of thing anymore. Ole has sold out and moved to Arizona, and the drunk driver may be some Idahole with a bad attitude and a pistol on his front seat. Thereâs no such thing as North Dakota nice anymore,â he said wistfully.
âAnd when I was talking about the stress of living here, I wasnât kidding. Weâve always had drugs and weâve always had fights. But the types of calls are just more traumatic now. Bar fights are more vicious. Domestic violence calls are more bloody. Bad actors from other parts of the country bring their lack of manners with them. Once in a while the crews from the different oil field outfits get in big fights with each other. Itâs something out of a Western movie. Think cowboys versus sheepmen or sailors versus marinesâthat kind of thing. They ride for the brand.
âThe drugs of choice have gotten worse also. It used to be weed and blow. Now itâs meth and heroin, both the black tar and white powder versions.â
Cassie said, âYou said there was a lot of stress. Does that come from money, or change, or what?â
âMy theory is thereâs a lot of mourning going on beneath the surface and it builds up until they lash out. The locals are mourning what they had, and the newcomers are mourning what they lost when they moved here.â
Cassie sat back and looked at him. She said, âThatâs profound. What keeps you here?â
He grinned ruefully. âYou mean because Iâm obviously so damned old I could retire?â
âI didnât say that exactly. Remember, you said I was getting old myself a while back.â
âI think Iâll be hearing about that for a while,â he said with a wink. âJust donât tell my wife.â
âI wonât. So what keeps you here?â
He merged into the heavy traffic for the slow ride back into downtown Grimstad. âMy horses, for one,â he said. âI used to ride âem in team penning events. Now theyâre too old to win me any money and Iâm too old to ride âem. So I keep âem fed and doctored, and maybe weâll time it right so weâll all ride off into the sunset together.â
He paused. âAnd I guess I just feel like I need to see this thing through. I was here when it started and I want to try to make sure the good guys win in the end.â
Then: âYou hungry?â
âStarved.â
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
EN ROUTE to the Wagon Wheel, Kirkbride continued to play tour guide by offering anecdotes on places they passed.
The mega Walmart parking lot was packed with cars as if it were the day after Thanksgiving. âUp until a few months ago, they didnât even bother stocking the shelves because they couldnât keep up. Theyâd just bring pallets of stuff in and stack âem in the aisles. Thereâs actual merchandise on the shelves now, so I guess weâre gaining a little ground.
âLast year, a garbage truck in the alley started lifting up a Dumpster when a guy jumped out whoâd been sleeping inside on old mattresses. The guy started screaming and luckily the driver heard him. Last time I saw him he was working at Walmart.â
At the Amtrak station, he said, âEvery single day the train stops and a few men get off. Some of âem donât even have coats. Saddest sight youâll ever
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