So I’m working with HS late afternoon Saturday. Up in Heron’s Cove (By the way, all names are fictional). Kinda out there in the middle of it’s-a-small-town nowhere. And we’re doing our thing, clearing a cabinet. Knickknacks, memorabilia, tools, sewing notions. And a bullet. Big ‘ol thing, good three inches long. And live. I don’t know the first thing about bullets, couldn’t necessarily tell you the difference between a BB gun pellet and a duck gun shell. But my client knew it was live. Trusted my client, offered to take it because my client was scared of the thing.
Between my final destination (HOME!!!) and my client is a police station. Heron’s Cove station. Straight shot from my client to the station. CLOSED ON SATURDAYS. WHAT???????
Between Heron’s Cove and HOME is another station. Nickel. Real city. Promise. Not being a NY snob here. Went over immediately. CLOSED ON SATURDAYS.
Onwards to my city. Lavender. Big, big city compared to Nickel. CLOSED ON SATURDAYS. Yay me, I checked the hours before roaring over. Lavender police station open Monday 8:00AM. Amused the officer on desk duty with my saga, who took my name, age, phone number and bullet. Relief.
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