Deputy Sheriff, Johnny Blagg, had the night shift until 9;00 AM, so it was he who answered the phone at 8:35. The call was from a Special Agent Proctor, informing him that an assassination of one Franky Antonio had just occurred out on the old Young farm, and that they needed a coroner out there ASAP. "Damn it to hell," Blagg mumbled after he hung up the phone. Denise Undergert, the teenage dispatcher, asked, "Johnny, what are you swearing about so early in the morning?"
"I'm swearing about 25 minutes," Blagg said, dialing Larry Robush, the town doctor, and acting undertaker. "What does that mean?" Denise asked. "It means that if that call had come in 25 minutes later, I'd be home in bed, and the Sheriff could take it."
Doctor Robush was not any happier to get Blagg's call than Blagg was to get Proctor's call. It was Sunday morning and the good doctor was getting dressed for church. "Sorry, Doc." Blagg said, "But this straight from the FBI. They have this informant out on the Young farm and someone shot him. ---- Yeah, he's dead, but they need you to confirm that. No. You can't put this off until after church. Doc, I'll tell you what I'll do, Ill pick you up. We'll go out together."
Denise had tears in her eyes, she was laughing so much. "What are you laughing about?" Blagg scolded.
"Oh, you're gonna have fun. Doc Robush will be chewing your butt for 50 miles." Once Denise got her laughter under control she asked, "Do you want me to call Sheriff Hargrove?"
Blagg nodded his head. Strapping on his gun belt, he waved and went out the door.
Denise picked up her can of coke, took a quick sip and dialed Sheriff Hargrove. "Hargrove." he answered. Denise could hear children's voices in the background. Denise explained to the sheriff what had just transpired with the FBI. "Very good," Hargrove said. "I'll be on my way in a few." He hung up.
Denise turned up the radio. This was the most excitment in this town, ever.