Waking up to the musk of the Cheasapeak and a cup of Earl Gray, Mc could barly hear his phone ringing over the birds that surrounded his house as if ready to invade. On the other end was his superior, a Beuford T. Justic impersonator without the hat, who was as clumsy and frank as anyone could imagine. The annoyance could not have come any sooner as he spilled some tea on his white shirt burning the skin just below his throught. "Mc, Mc? Tell me your already heading down to the point." -"Excuse me?" -"Tell me your in your car right now searching for Daniel Watson!" -"Who the in the hell is that?" Mc wasnt actively working on any case, since wrapping up an arson case Tuesday, and didn't have the slightest idea why he would be looking for anyone. More or less why his boss who brags so ofton about knowing everyones case and wereabouts would even expect him to be working on somthing at all.
"Daniel Watson, the man lives a few blocks from you, went out yesturday morning and never returned to his wife! You were tasked with this at 0500 this morning!" Questioning the Shariffs logic of tasking someone absant and off the clock then expecting them to even konw that they're even supposed to be doing somthing irritated the deputy. "And exactly how am I supposed to know this?" - "Do I have to wright you up for this? Now get down to the point and do your damn job!" Now, furious at even taking this job in the firstplace, Mc cleaned himself up, put on his uniform, and headed down to the point. Exactly what he would expect to find at the last place some boater was seen before going missing to be assummed hours away by now, was completly behond him. Just imagin the Titanic going missing and the first place anyone looks for it is the harbor.
'The Point,' was just a parkinglot with a short trail through the treeline to the river. A short drive from where Mc had lived for over 12 years, and a spot that attracts boaters for the schools of fish that seem to just sit there waiting to be picked like a ciggerett on a table. Mc got out of his crown-vic, he wished would just turn into a grand-marc one day, and stepped onto the trail leading down to the river. The smell of the mud that filled the thick humid air while the soft muck made taking a few dozen steps seem like a work out. The river itself only went down about 30' down the center and was only about 12' about half a mile from the shore.
Approaching the shore line brought the warm breeze that 'almost summer' had to offer. The smell of dead fish and human waste filled Mc's nose like a gaw in a bloody nose, and he hadn't yet decided whether or not this was even a way to start the investigation. His mind, cloudy, and his body numb as could be for a man that just woke up about a half an hour ago put alot of strain on his body. Looking out over the river brought back memories of his childhood out on the water, and gave him that disappointed feeling of realizing where his life had taken him. He had no logical reason for being there and nothing but a name and the imagined small craft that Daniel must have owned.
