Heaps of Whimpering Men and Policy -Campfire Tales  #08

Hello, Benjamin from Brother’s Campfire here!

Today is another episode of Campfire Tales. If you need to catch up, here are the preceding chapters.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

Also, you may find this translator helpful. The language of La Longi doesn’t completely mesh with ours. It is just how language goes.

Translator

Well, that all being said, Gather ‘Round and I will spin you a tale!

The ruffian wobbled like a top at the end of a spin cycle. 

A blow to the side of the leg violent and unexpected has such potential.

Such was normal fare for Constable Nixon.

The partying at the Puking Peasant had overflowed into the streets as it always did, and someone was bound to get in a brawl over a girl, a slight, or just plain something to do. 

His sleeves rolled up, he gave direction to disperse and doled out consequences for noncompliance. 

The commotion was over a tall stranger who a large number were attempting to cut down to size with a variety of improvised weapons. 

He wasn’t toppling as anticipated and made quick work of the attackers. 

Upon Nixon’s approach, they dispersed in the darkness of the docks. Such is the way of the ne’er do well when the law is about.

Closer inspection revealed the tall stranger wore a ridiculous red sash and an enormous hat, and he rolled a smoke in his hands that did not seem to have tobacco in it. 

Nixon had seen such tendencies on the street to fidget in an unconscious manner when stressful situations arose.

The real shocker was this; In a generous heap nearby lay a number of broken, whimpering men and broken weapons. 

“Howdy,” The stranger replied. 

“What happened here?” Constable Nixon demanded. 

“Why, I stopped by for a glass of water at the hotel here and these men wanted to get acquainted in the strangest way.”

Constable Nixon was all business.

“I am not one for jokes, you got in a tangle with Earnest Kenyon’s men and that is obvious by their clothing. Are you a rival gang member?”

The old man smiled, a whimsical look in his eye. 

“Oh, you want an introduction. Why didn’t you say so? You can call me Brett, Brett Hazelcup.” 

Brett extended his hand and Nixon didn’t take it. He had been thrown abruptly shaking hands. 

“Mr. Hazelcup, I am Constable Nixon and I patrol the dock area. I need to get some information so I can write a report. Clearly, you were attacked so are in the clear.”

Hazelcup put the rolling paper in his pocket.

“You don’t say! I worked with several Nixons in my day. Nice to meet you.” 

Nixon was irritated. “Hazelcup, I don’t care right now. Where did you come from and how did this fight start?”

Hazelcup adjusted his hat and his neckerchief, drawing things out in an instinctive manner to further aggravate Constable Nixon. 

“Constable, I seek legal representation before making any more statements.”

Nixon sighed. It was time to push this to a conclusion.

“Sir, you are gonna tell me what happened here, why it happened, and where you came from. That is what you are going to do, Hazelcup.” 

Nixon tapped his nightstick on the side of his leg.

The old man chuckled. “No sir, with all due respect, I seek legal counsel and your policy calls for it. “

“Look bud, I already told you this is cut and dried and you are in the clear. Dont pull this legal garbage on me and tell me what happened.”

“Son, I used to play this game with suspects when I was your age. Legal counsel. It’s policy and you know it. You better stop trying to fit in with your peers and complete your investigation the right way. Here, I will quote it from the original for you.

Ahem, 

⊱ᛟ ᚢ  ᚺ ᚨ ᚹ ᛖ  ᛏ ᚺ ᛖ  ᚱ ᛁ θ ᚺ ᛏ  ᛏ ᛟ  ᚱ ᛖ ᛗ ᚨ ᛁ ᚾ  ᛋ ᛁ ᛚ ᛖ ᚾ ᛏ. Λᚾ ᛃ ᛏ ᚺ ᛁ ᚾ θ  ᛃ ᛟ ᚢ  ᛋ ᚨ ᛃ  ᚲᚨ ᚾ  ᛒᛖ  ᚢ ᛋ ᛖ ᛞ  ᚨ θ ᚨ ᛁ ᚾ ᛋ ᛏ  ᛃ ᛟ ᚢ  ᛁ ᚾ  ᚲᛟ ᚢ ᚱ ᛏ. ⊱ᛟ ᚢ  ᚺ ᚨ ᚹ ᛖ  ᛏ ᚺ ᛖ  ᚱ ᛁ θ ᚺ ᛏ  ᛏ ᛟ  ᛏ ᚨ ᛚ ʞ ᛏ ᛟ  ᚨ  ᛚ ᚨ ψᛃ ᛖ ᚱ  ᚠ ᛟ ᚱ  ᚨ ᛞ ᚹ ᛁ ᚲᛖ  ᛒᛖ ᚠ ᛟ ᚱ ᛖ  ψᛖ  ᚨ ᛋ ʞ ᛃ ᛟ ᚢ  ᚨ ᚾ ᛃ   σᚢ ᛖ ᛋ ᛏ ᛁ ᛟ ᚾ ᛋ. ⊱ᛟ ᚢ  ᚺ ᚨ ᚹ ᛖ  ᛏ ᚺ ᛖ  ᚱ ᛁ θ ᚺ ᛏ  ᛏ ᛟ  ᚺ ᚨ ᚹ ᛖ  ᚨ  ᛚ ᚨ ψᛃ ᛖ ᚱ  ψᛁ ᛏ ᚺ  ᛃ ᛟ ᚢ  ᛞ ᚢ ᚱ ᛁ ᚾ θ   σᚢ ᛖ ᛋ ᛏ ᛁ ᛟ ᚾ ᛁ ᚾ θ. ⨡ᚠ  ᛃ ᛟ ᚢ  ᚲᚨ ᚾ ᚾ ᛟ ᛏ  ᚨ ᚠ ᚠ ᛟ ᚱ ᛞ  ᚨ  ᛚ ᚨ ψᛃ ᛖ ᚱ , ᛟ ᚾ ᛖ  ψᛁ ᛚ ᛚ  ᛒᛖ  ᚨ ᛈ ᛈ ᛟ ᛁ ᚾ ᛏ ᛖ ᛞ  ᚠ ᛟ ᚱ  ᛃ ᛟ ᚢ  ᛒᛖ ᚠ ᛟ ᚱ ᛖ  ᚨ ᚾ ᛃ   σᚢ ᛖ ᛋ ᛏ ᛁ ᛟ ᚾ ᛁ ᚾ θ  ᛁ ᚠ  ᛃ ᛟ ᚢ  ψᛁ ᛋ ᚺ. ⨡ᚠ  ᛃ ᛟ ᚢ  ᛞ ᛖ ᚲᛁ ᛞ ᛖ  ᛏ ᛟ  ᚨ ᚾ ᛋ ψᛖ ᚱ   σᚢ ᛖ ᛋ ᛏ ᛁ ᛟ ᚾ ᛋ  ᚾ ᛟ ψ ψᛁ ᛏ ᚺ ᛟ ᚢ ᛏ  ᚨ  ᛚ ᚨ ψᛃ ᛖ ᚱ  ᛈ ᚱ ᛖ ᛋ ᛖ ᚾ ᛏ , ᛃ ᛟ ᚢ  ᚺ ᚨ ᚹ ᛖ  ᛏ ᚺ ᛖ  ᚱ ᛁ θ ᚺ ᛏ  ᛏ ᛟ  ᛋ ᛏ ᛟ ᛈ  ᚨ ᚾ ᛋ ψᛖ ᚱ ᛁ ᚾ θ  ᚨ ᛏ  ᚨ ᚾ ᛃ  ᛏ ᛁ ᛗ ᛖ. “

Constable Nixon knew options were limited. 

Whoever this guy was knew his rights and he wasn’t getting any answers. “Ok, Mr. Hazelcup, I get nothing from you. You are free to go. Like I said, it is obvious that you were defending yourself. “

The stranger tipped his hat.

“Have a nice day constable.”

“You as well, sir.”

“Oh, Constable Nixon?”

“YES?”

“Keep up on policy.”

Author: The Storyteller

Benjamin Thiel is a husband, father, correctional professional and author of The Ongoing Tale at Brothers Campfire. His favorite quote is "Don't count the lions. It will make you afraid and slow you down."

17 thoughts on “Heaps of Whimpering Men and Policy -Campfire Tales  #08”

  1. Well, I like Brett and I hope we see more of him. I have a feeling that Constable Nixon will, in fact, brush up on policy since this stranger made a big deal of it.

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