(so, I gave in, and this tale now lays broken, unfinished, before you. Sorry to those who liked it, but you have only a nasty minded society to blame. Still canned postings here, too bad, ain't it? )
Two hours, Mike thought, walking from the crime scene to the trolley station, lost just to getting the warrants and serving them to progress further. The Boyles balked at having the walls torn out for the investigation, and showed up with a lawyer to stop the recovery. Despite being in law enforcement, he found most lawyers annoying to deal with.
"At least the day turned out better." Mike commented to Arvard.
"Needed this snow. Been a dry year." Arvard gestured to the brown mountain sides. "Just lucky there were so few fires. Burn scars tend to tet loose when the rains and snows come along."
Loud clattering, humming rails and the toot of a whistle let them know the trolley was approaching. Mike hustled up to the stop on the side of the street. Arvard joined him.
"I'll escort you to the Fort's boundry. Best, where you have some very sensitive evidence in that box." Arvard stated.
"Thanks. Should have split it up into two boxes then." Mike joked.
"No guaruntee your folks would have a helper waiting at the gate to take it to your labs." Arvard shrugged as the trolley approached, narrowly missing a steamer car that ignoted the signal arm. "Fools think those trolleys can stop on a dime and hand back change. I might be along to help you get it all back in the box."
Shaking his head, Mike watched the trolley rolling closer. "Not a happy thought. At least it is all in sealed envelopes."
Clouds of steam filled the cool afternoon air as the trolley vented its drive pistons and steam lines to slow down, brakes screaching as metal ground on metal. Rusted iron plated sides of the vehicle eased by him, the faint glow of Saint Elmo's Fire flickering across the face, tracing faint arcs across rust and bullet holes from the last war.
"Why not repair the cars?" Mike asked.
"Money and Pride." Arvard said. "Cost too much money, and folks are proud that even under hails of bullets and shrapnel that drifted into town, the trolleys kept running. Guess we hold on to some things too long."
Mike nodded, remembering the fights in council meetings and courts over keeping the tram cars over the Charles running in Boston after the disaster. "Yeah. Guess so. Know it was the same back home."
"The static charges are bad today. I'll admit that." Arvard laughed as Mike jumped after a shcoker leader leapt off the trolley, jolting him.
"One more arguement for some other design." Mike snapped, good naturedly. "At least you only run these on this line."
"And a few others. Some folks trust these more, the older cars hodling up better than some newer designs." Arvard stepped onboard, catching Holzon's sleeve to aid him in balance as he jostled his way up the stairs.
Once they found a seat, easier on a trollye headed towards the center of Salt Lake in the evenings, Mike sighed. "This is one weird case."
Looking around, the angel nedded. "And a touchy one. This could stir back up war attitudes, on both sides."
Mike opened his notebook, scribbling in a few thoughts for his next stop, at the General's office. "Hope not. Hope this solves some things." He shook his head. "Why does Feinstien want that Tesla file from Chicago?" His mutter made Arvard nod.
"No telling. That jew has a pretty good instinct for cases, though." Removing his hat, Higgins ran a hand through his thick, greying mane. "Not to mention that degree in forensics, I know he works with Deseret Telesond when not working. Guess he never gave up on his dreams, despite his claims otherwise."
Mike added that as a question to ask Chicago as well. "We need to know where this line runs to. Think folks will cooperate, or will I need search warrants and threats the whole way?"
Looking out a narrow window, once used for firing guns from, the angel grimaced. "No telling. Despite the lockstep to what the Prophet and Quorum say others see, we are not as united and obedient as most think." He snorted. "Heck, three of my neighbors up here might even take shots at you just out of fear you are here to enforce the Polygamy Policy."
That thought jerked Holzon's head up, fast. "And that could be related, the limit of five wives?"
"Some still feel it should be as many as you want, others argue it should be as many as you can support the children from. A large numbers still fear folks back East might want to end it finally. Regardless, I'll work with you, just in case such issues come up. Good news, though, the laws provide after today you can carry a shooting iron to return fire with. If your Federated judge up there agrees the case might get heated."
They fell silent as others boarded the train, most seeing the Angel, and keeping their distance. Mike chuckled, wondering what crime they thought he'd been hauled in on, and how surprised they'd be at his actual rank.
"Guess I might want to wear my uniform next time?" He asked, as the trolley lurched into their stop.
Arvard shook his head. "Son, best investigators know how to do it without that kind of intimidation."
"I was figuring on telling any who give us statiic that only a fool would wear clothes like our uniforms in situations where gunplay might be involved. Those white stars on the breast are just embrodiiery these days, not something to stop bullets."
Arvard laughed as they jumped off, ths slush from the morning snow making them both stagger and slide a bit until they found their footing. "That's the honesst truty. Might even work, then again, some may not need to know that you don't were bullet stoppers any more. Don't want to give them any ideas." He motioned to the trail head, where the small stream turned into the street. "Let's get you back to the Fort, and your wife. Hopefully she has some information soon to help us. Or at least ideas about this mystery tube of ours."
Mike nodded, leading the way to the tight draw. Finding the trail in the fading light, with the setting sun's long shadows,
(That is where the messages hit, for the one try at getting work that created a phone interview... but still not a face to face or a job offer... Like I've said, I had to write my way out, people, not wait on your pathetic broken society to let me back in.)
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