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Spun Golden Part 1
Spun Golden
Rupert Stitskin was parked across from the rancher he’d been staking out the week before. Thick fog surrounded the squad car on the top of the mountain, it was shortly after eight pm and the mountain shadows covered him in darkness.
He was in his mid-forties, short and balding with a hooked nose, he had a small pot belly from too many donuts. Although his body was past its prime, his mind remained sharp. On the stakeout he saw people at all hours of the day coming in, random people at odd hours, all of them asking for Bill. Some customers were high school age, not much older than his own son.
Six squad cars pulled onto the side of the road. Men and women dressed in black body armor marched orderly to the door. The lead man knocked hard on the door, no answer, he banged again on the door, now hard enough to cause a small crack in the cheap wood.
“Aaron Paxton, we have a warrant to search!” said the lead.
Still no answer. The lead moved to the side and one of the larger team members kicked the door, splitting the cheap wood down the middle. A second kick and the door caved inward. The team filed in an orderly manner. Flashlight beams moved around the house , checking for evidence.
“All clear, you should come in and investigate,” said a female voice over the CB Radio.
“What’s the M.O.?” asked Rupert.
“Looks like another O.D., we also found a greenhouse but not more n’ that, looks like the house is trashed too, an ambulance was called, should be here shortly.”
Rupert looked around the house for evidence, the inside of the rancher was filthy; stacks of old newspapers sat in piles gathering dust, containers of half-eaten food were rotting and mouldering in the sink, roaches and flies crawled around on the counters.
He wrinkled his nose and walked carefully to the backyard, which was grown over with weeds. In the middle of the yard stood a greenhouse, bright and in pristine condition compared to the rest of the house. He opened the thin mesh door and found rows upon rows of planters full of straw; out of the straw grew flowers that resembled poppies, but instead of red, they were a deep golden color.
Rupert smelled the heady perfume that lingered in the air. Small trails started to form in his vision, and drowsiness hit him like a truck. He slammed the door behind him as he left the greenhouse and gulped down fresh, humid air to clear out his senses.
“Definitely another grow operation for Spun,” said Rupert.
The lead shook his head, “It seems like every time we find one, two more crop up in its place.”
“I know, but we have to keep trying to find the person in charge of all this” Rupert sighed as he massaged his temples.
Spun was short for Spun Golden, a genetically modified plant. The plant had hallucinogenic properties of belladonna and addictive qualities of an opioid, and grew best out of the soil in small pots aerated by straw. Spun recently discovered in small towns on the I81 and 68 corridor, roads that ran through small Appelatian towns, towns already depressed by a flailing mining or rust belt economy, towns already wrecked by the opioid crisis.
After a few hours of investigating, Rupert drove down the mountain, the fog became clouds as he drove down the mountain into town. His ears popped and his head pounded, no doubt from withdrawal of Spun.
He opened the door and his wife, Norma, embraced him. “You look awful, hon,” she said. Her plump body was soft and he smelled honeysuckle, her dark hair was showing the faintest trails of silver and was still stunning next to her dark blue eyes.
“It’s this case, every time I get close, it slips away from me, I can’t win.”
“Shh,” she kissed him. “I made you a casserole, it’s in the oven, why don’t you have dinner and a beer and meet me in bed?”
“I don’t think beer is the best idea right now, but thank you.” He held her tightly. “ I don’t know how I’d remain sane without you.”
“Never you mind, hon.” She gave him another kiss and headed off the small bedroom in their modest house. He had known Norma since highschool, they met in journalism class, and while he used his investigative skill to become an agent for the DEA, she became a drama and english teacher for Dalton Highschool. She also wrote novels in the summer when she wasn’t too busy taking care of their son Caleb.
Rupert Stiltskin decided to become a deputy in the small town of Castle, hoping to use his investigative skills to become a detective. He applied to the DEA instead of a detective after witnessing the damage of the opioid crisis in his hometown.
After dinner he peeped into the door where Caleb slept. He was now nearly thirteen, long and lanky. Rupert thought about all the time he lost, he was out looking for drug dealers while Norma took him to auditions for school plays. Rupert...
Rupert Stitskin was parked across from the rancher he’d been staking out the week before. Thick fog surrounded the squad car on the top of the mountain, it was shortly after eight pm and the mountain shadows covered him in darkness.
He was in his mid-forties, short and balding with a hooked nose, he had a small pot belly from too many donuts. Although his body was past its prime, his mind remained sharp. On the stakeout he saw people at all hours of the day coming in, random people at odd hours, all of them asking for Bill. Some customers were high school age, not much older than his own son.
Six squad cars pulled onto the side of the road. Men and women dressed in black body armor marched orderly to the door. The lead man knocked hard on the door, no answer, he banged again on the door, now hard enough to cause a small crack in the cheap wood.
“Aaron Paxton, we have a warrant to search!” said the lead.
Still no answer. The lead moved to the side and one of the larger team members kicked the door, splitting the cheap wood down the middle. A second kick and the door caved inward. The team filed in an orderly manner. Flashlight beams moved around the house , checking for evidence.
“All clear, you should come in and investigate,” said a female voice over the CB Radio.
“What’s the M.O.?” asked Rupert.
“Looks like another O.D., we also found a greenhouse but not more n’ that, looks like the house is trashed too, an ambulance was called, should be here shortly.”
Rupert looked around the house for evidence, the inside of the rancher was filthy; stacks of old newspapers sat in piles gathering dust, containers of half-eaten food were rotting and mouldering in the sink, roaches and flies crawled around on the counters.
He wrinkled his nose and walked carefully to the backyard, which was grown over with weeds. In the middle of the yard stood a greenhouse, bright and in pristine condition compared to the rest of the house. He opened the thin mesh door and found rows upon rows of planters full of straw; out of the straw grew flowers that resembled poppies, but instead of red, they were a deep golden color.
Rupert smelled the heady perfume that lingered in the air. Small trails started to form in his vision, and drowsiness hit him like a truck. He slammed the door behind him as he left the greenhouse and gulped down fresh, humid air to clear out his senses.
“Definitely another grow operation for Spun,” said Rupert.
The lead shook his head, “It seems like every time we find one, two more crop up in its place.”
“I know, but we have to keep trying to find the person in charge of all this” Rupert sighed as he massaged his temples.
Spun was short for Spun Golden, a genetically modified plant. The plant had hallucinogenic properties of belladonna and addictive qualities of an opioid, and grew best out of the soil in small pots aerated by straw. Spun recently discovered in small towns on the I81 and 68 corridor, roads that ran through small Appelatian towns, towns already depressed by a flailing mining or rust belt economy, towns already wrecked by the opioid crisis.
After a few hours of investigating, Rupert drove down the mountain, the fog became clouds as he drove down the mountain into town. His ears popped and his head pounded, no doubt from withdrawal of Spun.
He opened the door and his wife, Norma, embraced him. “You look awful, hon,” she said. Her plump body was soft and he smelled honeysuckle, her dark hair was showing the faintest trails of silver and was still stunning next to her dark blue eyes.
“It’s this case, every time I get close, it slips away from me, I can’t win.”
“Shh,” she kissed him. “I made you a casserole, it’s in the oven, why don’t you have dinner and a beer and meet me in bed?”
“I don’t think beer is the best idea right now, but thank you.” He held her tightly. “ I don’t know how I’d remain sane without you.”
“Never you mind, hon.” She gave him another kiss and headed off the small bedroom in their modest house. He had known Norma since highschool, they met in journalism class, and while he used his investigative skill to become an agent for the DEA, she became a drama and english teacher for Dalton Highschool. She also wrote novels in the summer when she wasn’t too busy taking care of their son Caleb.
Rupert Stiltskin decided to become a deputy in the small town of Castle, hoping to use his investigative skills to become a detective. He applied to the DEA instead of a detective after witnessing the damage of the opioid crisis in his hometown.
After dinner he peeped into the door where Caleb slept. He was now nearly thirteen, long and lanky. Rupert thought about all the time he lost, he was out looking for drug dealers while Norma took him to auditions for school plays. Rupert...
