The Shipping Yard Sleuth (1 of 8)

*the following is a story written by ScottGrisham to accompany my renders.

The crisp Fall air softly rustles your long blonde hair as you peddle your bike. You, Becky Carter, are officially an adult but cannot afford your own car. Yet. You have plans, but for now they are sidelined by the fact you work at Speedrun Games and Movies.

You get to open, which means an early shift, which translates to a late owl as yourself into somewhat bleary eyes and the irritated burning of a short night in your head.

"At least the morning is so gorgeous," you say aloud. Indeed, the pinkish sky mixed with the blue and white of an oncoming sunny day does help dispel your sleepiness.

You give a concerned glance at your leather wristwatch, a fancy ladies' timepiece that gets glances from customers, who seem annoyed that a working class girl wears a Cartier Tank. A gift from your late father. You could sell the watch and put a down payment on a car, but wouldn't dream of losing his last gift to you.

So a bike it is. And an early head-start. Too early, you realize, as you check the time.

You carefully navigate the street, ever mindful of your uniform. The pantyhose you wear is cheap, and would tear quite easily on the bicycle chain. Could even cause a nasty accident. So you peddle with your legs splayed slightly, aware that the scene might look ridiculous but try not to dwell on the fact. You might get distracted and actually tear those pantyhose.

"I'm just gonna be drumming my fingers for the first hour anyway," you grumble aloud. You're known for having a motormouth(a reputation that's not fair, in your opinion) but you're fairly quiet by yourself.

On a whim, you take the route that will cut through the docks, and give you a stunning view of Lake Barkley. It connects to a canal that runs to the ocean, so there's a ton of great barge ships at port.

And, maybe something exciting will happen? Already you feel your ears perk up at work whenever a customer mentions something close to a mystery.

"A girl loves a good mystery," you say aloud.

Peddling away, you eventually come to a dock side with a seedy looking shipyard. Containers and tarp covered trailers lie about, even several huge metal shipping crates.

One object catches your eye. It's covered in a blue tarp, and it's in the shape of an army tank. What would the army be doing in this part of town with a tank? Answer: nothing. There's no sign of any green fatigue wearing officials.

"Is it an antique?" You ask aloud. Ditching your bike, you crouch behind some crates to get a covert, if not necessarily, better view. You are not entirely unmindful that your tights-clad knees are scraping the wood.

Tony, your manager, is not that picky, but what you don't like is the disdainful looks from customers as they stare at your torn hosiery.

So, grimacing a bit, you pull back just a little from the crates.

A moment later and you're glad you crouched as two men appear, pulling the tarp up and revealing that yes indeed it is a tank, and a very old one at that.

One takes notes on a pad, while the other takes several snapshots with a camera.

You grow impatient, checking your watch and grumbling to yourself. You cannot wait til they are gone and you can sneak up and get a good view yourself.