THE PERMIT ON COUNTY ROUTE TWELVE
Chapter I: The Permit and the Smug Deputy
The late afternoon sun cast long, sweeping shadows across the dried grass and flat horizon of County Route 12. Parked on the gravel shoulder was an older, faded-blue Ford pickup truck, its engine ticking softly. Directly behind it, the amber and blue roof lights of a county sheriff cruiser flashed silently against the dusty road.
Standing outside the driver's door was Deputy Vance, a broad-shouldered officer with a smug, mocking grin, holding open a black leather credential wallet.
Inside the folio was a laminated state identification card stamped with a gold seal and a bold American flag header.
"To me, this permit is expired," Deputy Vance sneered, waving the card dismissively in front of the driver's face.
Standing on the shoulder was Frank. Dressed in a tan canvas work jacket over a plaid flannel shirt, Frank possessed a rugged, weathered face framed by silver-gray hair. His expression remained rock-solid, showing neither fear nor agitation.
Frank raised a single finger, pointing directly at the printed date on the card.
"Read it carefully," Frank said in a low, even baritone.