With the young people getting on nicely, Fanta drew on his cigarette and, without moving, drifted away. In his head, apropos the fall election, he composed a fantasy endorsement that boasted of Heidi Kick’s success. In fact, the sheriff had been too busy succeeding at the job to campaign for it, so, as an antidote to Barry Rickreiner’s rude campaign signs and social media jackassery, Fanta’s argument would state facts and reference cases solved, and it would “kick-start” the sheriff’s reluctant defense.

He would remind readers of the runaway girl from Iowa who had been raped and murdered, and disposed of in a freezer. He would reiterate that, thanks to Sheriff Kick, four local men were doing five-to-ten for the rape, and a fifth was doing life for the murder. In the process, a hidden history of sex crimes had been brought to light—and who knew how many future victims had been spared?

The sheriff remained on the phone inside her Charger. As Fanta wondered whether the call was about one of her twin little boys acting out again, he continued dreaming up his case of support. Last spring, amid a local infection of hate, there had been the executions of a beloved retired teacher (Augustus Pfaff: shot, mutilated, burned) and the sheriff’s own brother-in-law (Kenny Kick: shot) at the hands of a local white-power gang leader (Rolf Stang Jr.). Stang Jr. had in turn been fatally half beheaded (competition throwing ax) by Terry James Lord, a racist troll from Oklahoma who had flung acid in the sheriff’s face. Lord had been sentenced to two life terms in federal prison. In Fanta’s fantasy endorsement, he would remind Bad Axers that through all this mayhem, Heidi Kick had never flinched. Rapists and traffickers, kidnappers and racists and killers, all accounted for by a brave and hardworking sheriff, who despite her workload had never missed a high school sporting event, a Red Cross blood drive, a ribbon cutting or festival opening, or even a Lady Lions Club luncheon. These facts would glow convincingly from page seven, as Fanta’s lead editorial:

Bad Axe Safe and Sound Under Steady Leadership of Sheriff Kick

Finally she stepped from her Charger, a striking almost-redhead in her mid-thirties, compact and smart in her uniform and cap, almost always bouncy and smiling but this morning wearing a frown and rigid in her body language. The weeks of record temperatures had taken their toll. Crimes of all kinds were up. And despite emergency welfare visits that had kept the sheriff and her deputies running day and night, the lives of three elderly Bad Axers had been lost to heatstroke. Her opponent had marked each death with an RIP tweet and #kickherout.

While Fanta was lost in his thoughts, Deputy Luck had left the bridge to join her boss in appraising the body. Uncomfortable with silence, the giddy milk truck driver tried to make chitchat.

“How’s it going, man?”