by Brown, TW
“Joel?” a voice called from behind him, startling Joel and causing him to spin around with his hands at the ready to fight off whomever it was that had snuck up on him.
“Missus Trainer?” Joel gasped, doing his best to recompose himself.
“When did you get back?” The elderly woman made her way up the stairs one at a time, her cane causing a dull thud to sound in the otherwise quiet evening air.
“Just today.” He stepped back to make room for the kindly old lady that had lived next door to him and his parents for as long as he could remember.
“Nobody has told you.” Missus Trainer patted his cheek. “And I sure wish it didn’t have to be me.”
“Tell me what?” An icy sensation began to grow in the center of his chest.
“I’m so sorry, Joel.”
She didn’t need to say any more. Joel knew. As impossible as it seemed, he’d returned from Vietnam and it was his parents who were dead. Part of him wanted to laugh at the irony.
“How?”
“Car accident.” Missus Trainer sighed and then patted his shoulder. “The police say it was quick. They probably never even felt a thing.”
Joel turned back and peered into the window. He spun back to the kindly older woman who was looking up at him with tired eyes and the remnants of a forced smile.
“When? And where are my folks’ things?”
“Almost three weeks ago. The manager had everything placed in storage.”
Joel turned back and cupped his hands against the window. “The furniture is still there.”
“Easier to rent out as a furnished unit.”
Joel spun, his fists clenching as fresh anger surged through him. “Rent it out? What the hell do you mean rent it out? And that is my mom’s couch…my dad’s recliner. So how does that work?”
“The manager, Mister Garrity, he would know better than me, I’m sure. But—”
Joel didn’t hear another word spoken by the kindly Missus Trainer as he stormed off the porch and took off at a sprint towards the trailer where the manager lived. He didn’t need to follow any signs. He’d lived here long enough, and he knew exactly where he was going.
He reached the run down single-wide and charged up the steps. He pounded on the door with his fist.
“Open up, Mister Garrity,” he shouted. He beat on the door again with his fists and saw a shadow move past the flickering light of the television.
“Hold on to your britches,” a raspy voice said between hacking coughs.
Joel paused long enough to glance in the window. He could see the bent over figure of Old Man Garrity as he stumped to the door, ever-present cigarette dangling from his lips; the red cherry at the tip bobbing with his uneven steps.
The door opened and a wave of stale smoke, grease, and sweat swirled out. “What the hell is so important you gotta bang on my door at this hour?” Walt Garrity snarled. He looked up and his rheumy eyes squinted as he tried to focus on Joel and make him out from the shadows of the porch. “The office is closed, and if you are inquiring about renting and moving in, the hours are from ten in the morning to three in the afternoon.”
The bitter stench of the old man’s alcohol and cigarette fouled breath hit Joel in the face as the trailer park manager slurred his angry words, apparently not recognizing the young man who stood before him.
“Where are my mom and dad’s things? And what gives you the right to rent out their trailer with their furniture still in it?” Joel snapped, his eyes drifting past the hunched over man before him. His eyes locked on the television sitting on a rolling table in Mister Garrity’s living room. He felt as well as heard the blood rush to his ears, turning them red hot.
Without thinking, he reached out and grasped the old man by the neck. He lifted the man’s feet from the ground with almost no effort. Walt Garrity’s reply ended before it began with a harsh cough and surprised gasp that also silenced suddenly as his air was cut off by the hand gripping his throat.
“You’re nothing but a fucking vulture, you son of a bitch!” Joel hissed, pulling the old man close enough so that their noses were almost touching. “Maybe you thought I would come home in a body bag so you could just do what you wanted with my folks’ stuff.”
“Joel!” a calm voice said from over his shoulder. Joel turned to see Missus Trainer at the bottom of the stairs. Her eyes were wide with fear and her whites shone in the reflection of the streetlamp almost directly above her. Despite her obvious fear, she continued to hold him with her gaze.
“This piece of trash is looting my parents’ place. He was gonna rent out their place like it was his to do with as he pleased.”
“Put him down, Joel,” Missus Trainer whispered. “You’re going to kill him.”
Joel looked up at the old man turning an ugly purple in his grip. He let go, allowing Mister Garrity to fall to his knees. The old man hacked and coughed as he struggled to suck air into his starved lungs.
“I’ll call the cops,” he finally rasped.
“You do that.” Joel turned his back on the man. “Make sure they know how you were looting my parents’ trailer and how you were putting their home up for rent and how you were gonna pocket the money.”
“You’re crazy,” Old Man Garrity coughed as he scuttled back inside his trailer and slammed the door.
Twenty minutes later, the flashing lights of a squad car added to the atmosphere of the rundown trailer park. People came out onto their patios or stared out from their curtains or blinds. What they saw was a young man bent over the hood of the squad car for a while until the two officers eased him into the back seat.
The next day, word spread about what happened. A group of residents got together and posted Joel’s bail. Missus Trainer was kind enough to allow Joel to stay in her trailer. She insisted that he stay as long as it took to square things away. That turned out to be less than a month. A judge found in his favor and dismissed the case, scolding Mister Garrity for trying to take advantage of a tragic situation.
That was also how long it took for Emerson Powell, attorney-at-law to discover that the son of Dottie and Hank Landon had returned home from Vietnam. Joel was stunned to discover that not only did both of his parents have a substantial life insurance policy, but apparently they had squirreled away a tidy sum. When it was all said and done, Joel was looking at a mid-six-figure bank account balance.
The first thing he did was make an offer to the owner of the trailer park. The hour the papers were signed, he had Mister Garrity evicted. The man blubbered about having no place to go and not enough money to afford to be able to move his trailer.
“Not my problem,” Joel said as he walked off the porch and to his parents’ trailer where he planted the sign that read “MANAGER” at the head of the driveway.
Within three years, Joel Landon owned four trailer parks around Las Vegas, Nevada. He made it a point to pay attention as the city began to grow. He could imagine a day when Vegas was the ultimate tourist destination. Taking a gamble at the many tables and slot machines was not his style. Instead, he gambled on his vision of an expanding city.
Joel bought gigantic tracts of land all around the areas surrounding the city. He saw his first return in less than five years when a developer arrived with a plan to build an upscale subdivision.
The levels of Joel’s wealth became staggering as the 80s arrived. By then, he had a staff of accountants and lawyers as well as a team of investment advisors. Always looking to the future, Joel showed an uncanny foresight. He made a fortune on a small shoe company that emerged in a town called Beaverton, Oregon as well as some computer program start up in Washington State. There were other investments, and while not all were winners, it was safe to say that most did very well.
Through it all, Joel lived in his parents’ trailer. He lived there until the late 90s when the last resident that had come to his aid all those years ago finally passed. After he’d scored big on his first deal, he had let each of those people know that they no l
onger needed to worry about their space rents.
If you spoke to any of the associates that came to know Joel Landon over the years, they would have been shocked to know he’d done such a thing. His ruthlessness was legendary, and as a businessman, there were few better.
The years passed, and Joel had conceded that he would probably never marry. The early years he credited to his constantly working. That had left him no time for a social life. As he grew older, as well as wealthier, he decided that he would never be able to trust the intentions of any woman he met. She would see his net worth, and that would be what she more than likely fell in love with.
Then he met Wanda Jean Billings. She was one of his front office staff in his main real estate office. He’d walked in one afternoon and asked to see the office manager.
“Mister Parks is in a meeting,” Wanda had said without hardly looking up at him for more than a few seconds.
“Well, tell him it’s an emergency,” Joel had said through a clenched jaw. If there was one thing he hated, it was waiting…for anything.
“More important than his son’s first birthday?” the raven-haired woman had sniffed. “How about you just take a seat, cool your jets, and as soon as Mister Parks is done with his lunch meeting with his wife and son, I’ll tell them you are here.”
Joel opened his mouth to say something when the woman looked up at him and locked eyes with him. “Look, I get it. You are probably some real estate hotshot, and you think the world rises and sets on your ass, but there are more important things than your next deal. Mister Parks already spends too much time away from his family working for our boss. His kid only turns one once. You can wait. Like I said, I’ll tell him you’re here as soon as he’s done.”
Joel opened his mouth to say something and then promptly shut it when she leveled her stare at him, peering over her glasses with an expression that dared him to challenge her. As he sat on the uncomfortable chair against the wall and waited, he observed the woman who’d been so brash and brazen with him and realized that she had no idea who he was. He also was willing to wager that she probably wouldn’t have cared if she did.
Eventually, Bill Parks emerged from his office. A short blond woman followed in his wake. On his left hip, the man carried a toddler that seemed to be fascinated with tugging in Bill Parks’ mustache. Each time the child gave it a tug, Bill Parks would pretend to try and gobble up the tiny hand. This elicited squeals and laughter from the child.
This game continued until Bill Parks turned and spied his boss seated on one of the hard-plastic waiting room chairs. He quickly shoved the little boy into the short blond woman’s arms and hurried across the room. He was stuttering and stammering out attempted apologies as he almost sprinted past the desk of Wanda Jean Billings. Joel only knew her name because it was on an engraved name plate situated on her desk.
“I am so sorry, Mr. Landon. How long have you been waiting?” Bill Parks managed to squeak out.
Joel got to his feet and gave the man a pat on the shoulder as he stepped to the side and slipped past his flustered office manager. “Am I to understand that this little guy just turned a year old today?”
“That’s correct,” the woman holding the child said, her voice cheerful and lacking any of the worry or fear pouring off her husband.
Joel turned to his manager. “And so my appointment with you was delayed so that you could have lunch with this child?”
Bill Parks made an audible gulping sound. “Y-y-yes, Mister Landon, sir.”
Joel nodded and turned back to mother and child. Apparently she had just figured out who he was. Her face had turned a terrible pale shade except for a fiery splotch on each cheek. “It’s my fault,” the woman gushed, her words all running together.
Jesus, what do my employees say about me to their spouses? Joel wondered when he saw the woman’s fear now matched her husband’s.
“This is Mister Landon?” Wanda Billings piped in from her desk. “Mister Parks, he never said who he was, and I don’t have him on the calendar for today. I’ve never met Mister Landon. I would’ve never had him wait out here if—”
“Everybody just dial it down,” Joel said over the commotion of flustered people falling over themselves. He turned his attention to the mother of the child. “I have to meet with your husband, but while I am, I’d like you to get ahold of my accountant.” He produced a business card and offered it to the woman. She stared at it like it was a poisonous snake about to strike. “Tell him that I want a college fund started in this young boy’s name right away. And then why don’t you and the young man have my driver take you on a little shopping spree.” He reached inside his jacket packet and produced a credit card for a store that the woman had never even set foot in due to its reputation for being expensive to the point of what she considered a bit vulgar.
“I couldn’t possibly…” she tried to protest, but the words were having a tough time escaping her throat.
“I insist.” Joel pressed the credit card into her hand and then gave the little boy a gentle chuck on the chin. He looked over to see his property manager flushed to the point where Joel thought he might be close to having a stroke. “Now, Bill, you and I have a few things to go over before the acquisition next Thursday.”
2
Today
Joel stared out the window of his penthouse at the top of the MGM Grand. He swirled the glass in his hand, oblivious to the sound of the ice clinking around in the heavy crystal vessel. He did not even taste the expensive scotch that trickled down his throat as he tipped the glass up and drained the rest of its contents.
“Mister Landon?” a voice called from behind him.
Joel started and turned to see an elderly man emerge from the suite’s master bedroom. He noticed when the man pulled the door shut behind him and then gave it a slight push as if ensuring that the latch had caught.
“Well, Doctor Carlson…how is she?” Joel set the glass down, his hand automatically seeking out a coaster.
“Too early to say, but…” The man paused. His eyes drifted away, unable to hold Joel’s steely gaze.
“Is she going to live?”
Joel didn’t need the doctor’s words to know the answer. It was crystal clear on the man’s face.
“I can’t give you any certainties until we get her blood into the lab and run some tests.”
“The television is saying that people have seventy-two hours tops from when they are bitten. Is that true?”
Joel had seen the news the past few days. He’d seen that CDC doctor ridicule the rumors that the dead were coming back and attacking the living. Then she’d come on and reversed her stance. Of course, she’d been bitten by one of their test subjects after they’d apparently run experiments that confirmed the worst. At the end of her last appearance, she’d removed a pair of dark sunglasses to reveal eyes that were shot full of the black tracers that seemed to be one of the earliest symptoms that a person was infected.
“Her eyes?” Joel asked, his voice barely a whisper. He dreaded the answer, yet he needed to know.
“There is no firm evidence as of yet to say that—” the doctor began, but Joel cut him off.
“Don’t bullshit me, Doc. You know damn good and well that the tracers are being reported as the most obvious symptom of infection before a person…” Now it was Joel’s turn to have his voice choke off and fade. He couldn’t bring himself to say it.
The two stood in silence for a moment. Eventually, the doctor exited. No goodbye, nothing. He simply left. That alone spoke volumes.
Steeling himself for what he would see, Joel went to the bedroom door. Taking a deep breath, he opened it and entered. The only light came from a small lamp beside the bed. But it wasn’t the gloom that gave him pause. There was the faintest hint of something sour. It was unlike any sort of body odor he’d ever experienced. There was something familiar about the stench, but it was so faint that he couldn’t pin it down. Of course there was also his grief as he looked at his be
loved bride of over twenty years lying in their bed.
If not for the bandage on her left arm that had already began to show seepage from the rip in her flesh, she could simply be taking a nap. His Wanda did love her naps.
Moving over beside the bed, Joel pulled the chair that the doctor had obviously been using back so he could sit next to his wife. His eyes found his own reflection in the mirror and he froze. For the first time in his life, Joel Landon thought that he looked like an old man. His hair was wispy and gray, quite a change from his youth when it was thick, brown, and just a hint of curl when it grew out a bit. His piercing brown eyes now just looked tired. The lines in his face seemed deeper, almost as if they were etched all the way down to the surface of his skull. His cheeks were sunken, and his lips were little more than a pair of slashes below his slightly crooked nose. His chest was still broad, but with his shoulders slumped as they were at this moment, it gave him much more of a gut to offset and diminish what had once been one of his best features. It had certainly been Wanda’s.
Looking at his wife, he could see that her face was pale and drawn, and her hair was a nest of tangles that would make her furious if she woke and discovered them. Last night, her fever had risen to the point where he could feel the heat radiating off her body from several feet away. When it broke, she’d been bathed in sweat. So far, a shower had simply not been something that she was able to take. He’d considered simply carrying her into their massive walk-in shower and holding her, but he knew that would make her furious. Wanda hated being babied.
“Joel?” Wanda croaked, her voice snapping him from his ruminations about the temper of his beloved.
“Right here, love.” He took one of her hands in his and patted it gently.
“I won’t become one of those…monsters.”
Joel was about to respond when she opened her eyes. His words stuck in his throat and he felt his stomach clench. The black tracers were stark against the whites of her eyes.
