Killing Time
Page 11
down on the crutches and he knew it would take practice before his fear ebbed.
At the time he began to feel twinges of pain in the center of his foot, he was nearly finished. He searched her jeans pockets, took her wallet and looked at her CDL license picture. He became emotional while reading her license and felt the blurring of his eyes as the water of tears gathered at the lower rim. Her name was Andrea Morgan Weatheral of 986 2nd Street West, Hardin, Montana. She had pictures of a smiling young woman holding a toddler of about age two. Gaston was hit hard when he realized the picture must be her daughter and grandson. The tears broke the rim and flowed down his cheek. He was undecided if he should anonymously mail her wallet and a note to the address on her license. After thinking a little more about that act, he shook his head and discarded it. Too easy to track to Louisiana and back to me. It would go in the burn barrel with her clothes. Her truck keys would be dumped in the center of Blanche Bay when he left for the rig.
By the time he hobbled to the daybed in the sewing room, he was left with only lighting the trash barrel and moving the body. Those items could wait. He swallowed two of the pain pills, lifted his bandaged foot to the bed, grimaced and then emitted a low groan as it hit the mattress. He stretched out, shook off his left shoe, dropping it on the floor, closed his eyes, groaned again and didn't wake until well after dark. He put his right hand over the end of the daybed, turned on the light, grabbed his crutches and stood, left foot in the air, pain still coursing through the wound and around the stitches. He tottered on the crutches through the house and to the utility room. He took a thirty-three gallon black bag from the box, braced the freezer door open and began throwing packaged fish and shrimp in the bag. Two bags later, he removed the shelves, storage boxes and sat them atop the freezer. Now that it was empty, he closed the door, dragged the bags to the back porch and left them near the steps. Back inside the house, he stood over Andy's body and studied how he could best get her to the utility room since he wasn't able to carry her.
He felt he could think better with a little bourbon in him. Tottering back to the kitchen, he poured about two fingers of the brown bourbon in the short glass, took a bottle of cold water from the fridge and topped the bourbon with a splash of the iced water. He sat in a chair; right foot extended as far as possible, and sipped the bourbon while he did deep thinking about Andy's body and the distance to the utility room. He was only dreaming of a second drink when an idea flashed through his mind. Rope. I need a rope. I can tie the rope under her arms, wrap it around my waist and drag her to the freezer. Her blood is clotted so it shouldn't be a problem. He pictured his route and planned to walk where her body wouldn't smear his drippings. He grinned to himself as he became thankful that he had stayed to the left on the way to the truck. That gave him a relatively clear path to drag her body. If his were smeared, that would raise questions .should the authorities ever learn of our leaving the truck stop together. He smiled again when he had thought of how fortunately it was that he parked near Pump Ten because that parking area has no surveillance cameras.
He did celebrate his thoughts with a second drink, unaware that two drinks combined with the pain pills were about to put him under for nearly fourteen hours.
His eyes opened at seven-twenty Monday morning. The taste in his mouth was worse than the odor of the fish and shrimp on the porch that the wind was blowing back through the aging sills and cracks in the house. He made a quick decision to place the burning barrel at the top of his project list. He put coffee on to brew, opened the door and the stench blasted him fully in the face. He gagged at the reeking stink. He took the bag of clothes, his lighter and hobbled to the barrel, dropped the clothes out of the bag, spread lighter fluid on them and lit the clothes. While they gathered the flames, he went to the porch and began dragging the fish bags to the barrel. He took papers from the shed and added them to the flames until the fire was shooting out of the barrel above his head. It took him almost an hour before he dropped the last package on top of the gathering ashes He broke the beer bottles and dropped them into the recycle can. He was already worn down and the day was just starting. He found an old clothesline rope, stuck it in the vee of the left crutch and went inside to begin the process of moving Andy to the freezer.
He cleaned the coffee pot after emptying the carafe into his work vacuum. He sat down to rest and to lift his leg as instructed while he drank his first cup of the boiling coffee. Hunger pains hadn't arrived yet so he discounted eating until Andy was safely inside the freezer. He dropped his foot, yelped lightly as he rose from the chair. He went to Andy, dropped the rope above her head, stood on his left foot and used the left crutch to hoist her left arm upwards. He grabbed her hand, lifted the body and used the crutch tip to push the rope under her. He repeated that action on her right side. Using his left crutch, he lifted the rope to his hands, went below her head, straddled her body, wriggled and pulled the rope until it was under her arms. He flipped the rope over her breasts with the crutch tip, and used the tip to move it to his hand. It was working like a charm. He made a slip knot in the rope, pulled it tight under her arms and stepped over her head, wrapped the rope around his waist, tied it well and tested his strength using the crutches. One step and she slid easily. Second step and she slid easily. He nodded to no one and began the single step movements until she was at the entrance of the utility room.
He rested against the wall knowing he needed to keep her tied in order for him to successfully stuff her in the freezer. Finally he opened the door, used the rope to lift her to where he could get his hands under her arms and using the wall, he lifted upwards, turned her and sat her butt on the freezer bottom. He pushed her back against the left wall, turned her legs and lifted, bending them at the knees to crunch them through the door and against the right wall. When she was inside, he struggled to get her lower legs up the wall and over her head. He was worn out when he backed against the wall and looked at the U-shaped body now fully ensconced inside the freezer. He stepped forward and put her hands on her abdomen, stepped back, closed the door, locked it, pocketed the key and smiling to himself, went back for his second cup of coffee and maybe something to eat.
The clock was nearing five when he trudged to the truck, got in and left for Breaux Bridge. When he walked inside the casino on crutches, Eloi jumped up, ran across the room and shouted, "My God, Gaston. What it is you did to yourself?' Come sit and tell me about it." Well, by the time they were at the table, three others had joined and were sympathizing with Gaston. Eloi spoke up and pleaded, "Tell us how you ended up on crutches." They were gathered to the side of his chair and anxious to hear his story.
Gaston displaying a sad serious face began to tell them, "You remember that picture of mama on the stair wall? Sometime during the late evening, it fell and the glass broke. I thought the noise was someone trying to break in so I grab my gun, jump from bed and run down the stairs. I stepped on a glass shard and rammed it all the way through my arch and into the bone. I had a hard time getting to the hospital. A surgeon, you know, at the Jeanerette Emergency Room had to do surgery to get it out. You should see the floor of my truck with all the stinky blood."
They all ughed and touched his back. At hearing the story, Louis LeBlanc spoke up and said, "Give me your keys, Gaston. I'll get Joe to steam clean it while you're eating. Hey, someone get Gaston something to eat."
In about ten minutes, Gaston had a steak, baked potato, hush puppies and fried okra in front of him. He smiled and said, "Thanks, boys. It's nice to know there's a helping hand when you need one." After their beers were gone, everyone except Eloi sauntered away to refresh their drinks and to pursue different stories. Watching Gaston eat, Eloi asked, "How about the house, Gaston? You can't clean it with only one foot. What if Cecilia and I drop by and scrub away the blood? We can do it in the morning before lunch."
"Okay, but only if you let me buy us all lunch at Mulate's. Crawfish are in season and they have the best."
"Oh, yeah, and you know how we love t
hem crawfish. Mulate's it is. Ten okay with you?"
"That's a perfect time. These pain killers knock me out like your favorite, Rocky Marciano would." Eloi laughed and slapped the table twice shaking the pill bottle until it rolled over and rolled toward Eloi. He sat it back up, read the label and said, "Those are powerful pills, Gaston. Do you need help getting back home?"
Gaston shook his head and responded, "I'm getting the hang of left footed driving and the good thing about it is, with the pills, I can't speed so I won't get any more tickets." Eloi laughed, slapped the table once and Gaston grabbed the pills before they turned over again.
Gaston opened the door when Eloi and Cecelia were still getting out of the truck. Eloi carried a gallon jug of bleach and a scrubbing broom. Cecelia had a mop, a bottle of Pine Sol, and a jug of detergent. Gaston led them to the stairwell and they stopped, wide-eyed and said, "Jesus Christ, Gaston, you lost a lot of blood. It's a wonder you didn't pass out."
Gaston grinned waved his head from side to side and said, "I didn't tell you that part. The surgeon orders a pint of blood but