Dead Enemies

by K. E. Garvey

  She turned toward the kitchen, but he held up a hand, and said, “Sit, eat your sandwich while it’s hot. I’ll check.”

  She obeyed, and he went to the refrigerator. In the back, behind a gallon jar with no more than two or three pickles in it, he found two cartons: one of sour cream, the other cottage cheese. He pulled out the cottage cheese and peeled the lid back releasing a biting odor. Replacing the lid on the green contents, he pulled a fork from the drying rack and returned to the table.

  He said, “Looks like my lucky day,” as he set the carton on the table in front of his seat. Gail never lifted her gaze from her sandwich as she alternated between it and the chips on her plate. He picked up one half of his sandwich with one hand while he slowly unzipped his pants with the other keeping his eyes on her all the while. Once he had exposed himself, he reached up and took hold of the fork sliding it over the plastic tablecloth until it reached the edge of the table and fell off, first hitting his lap and then skittering across the floor.

  The sound caused Gail to drop the chip she was holding and straighten in her chair.

  “Damn. I got a case of the dropsies today. Would you mind getting that for your old man?” he asked, careful to keep his tone comforting.

  Without saying a word, Gail slid off her chair and dropped to her hands and knees. Although he didn’t know where the fork had come to rest, it had to be close because he felt her brush his leg with her shoulder as she crawled under the table further.

  His heart quickened as he reached down and grabbed a hold of her pony tail. She shrieked when with a flick of his wrist he wrapped her hair around his hand giving him a firm hold. He pulled a bit harder and she let out a sound between a yelp and a cry. He slid lower in his seat. She placed a hand on each of his knees and pushed against them, but her strength was no match to his. He gave a yank of her hair bringing her face within inches of his lap. He could feel her warm breath, so close it sent a shiver up his back. His head was pounding, his penis pulsating. He applied more pressure and a scream echoed around the room. It was his own.

  Gail hurried out from underneath the table, a bloody fork in her hand. “The next time you lay a hand on me, I’ll kill you.”

  He pulled his hand from underneath the table, blood glistening in the sunlight that poured through the window.

  “Do you hear me,” she yelled at him.

  Her lip quivered, but she didn’t back down. He probably could have intimidated her into submission, but she had shown him something he’d never seen in her before and he found it arousing in a non-sexual way. She stared him in the eyes, never blinking, as she waited for a reply.

  “You’ve got a lot of balls for an eleven-year-old girl. I don’t know if I’m prouder of you or madder at you right now.”

  Her face was expressionless as she threw the fork to the table and stormed out of the room.

  Chapter Ten

  Warren - 2018

  After twenty years on the inside, Warren thought he would have become oblivious to foul smells. Body odor, vomit, urine, and undistinguishable food blobbed onto plastic trays blended together to form the fundamental and instantly recognizable stench of prison. But he’d have been wrong.

  Rodney relaxed on the couch, one foot propped on the coffee table, the other crossed over his leg as he shoved pork rinds into his mouth with the palm of his hand as if he hadn’t eaten in days. Crumbs fell and slowly worked their way down the front of his shirt as he chortled along with the laugh track of whatever mindless sitcom he was watching.

  Warren was restless. He’d been out for almost a week and hadn’t a clue where his daughters might be. He was a little pissed at himself for thinking that finding them would be easy. Of course, he hadn’t expected them to be waiting at the gate ready to embrace him with open arms. But he also hadn’t expected them to disappear while he was gone. It was his vision of their reunion that had gotten him through some of the roughest days. He knew every word he wanted to say, and every word he expected to hear in return. He even knew how it would end. The end. It was the pen that checked off the long, miserable days of his incarceration.

  He stared at the darkened screen of the computer sitting on the desk behind grease-soaked pizza boxes and a Jenga tower of empty beer cans. He had heard anything you could possibly want to know could be found on a computer. But he had no idea how to go about getting to it. Looking at the man with one hand down the front of his pants and the other grasping the remote, he was convinced he would be of no help in turning it on let alone navigating his way around.

  The television show that had put an end to Rodney’s incessant rambling was over. When Warren heard the intro music for the nightly news, he swiveled his chair to face the television. As always, it began with snippets of what to expect in the upcoming thirty minutes before heading to commercial.

  “I think Wheel of—”

  “Wait…” Warren cut him off, his attention on the blond anchor.

  “…and tonight, police are asking for your help in finding the killer of a Mendenhall woman found strangled in her home…”

  Someone had found Katherine. One of the girls? Possibly. His jaw clenched when it cut to commercial.

  “Since when are you interested in the goings on ‘round here?” Rodney asked as he lit one cigarette off another.

  Warren looked from Rodney to the television. “I’ve been away a long time; I have a lot of catching up to do.”

  “Same show, different actors. Someone got robbed, someone got killed, and someone was found guilty for whatever it was they done. ‘Bout sums it up, don’t ya think?”

  Friggin’ bonehead. Only you’re that simple. He looked to the television as the anchors reappeared. “Give me a minute, would you?”

  Rodney waved a hand in the direction of the TV as he blew out a cloud of smoke.

  “…Our top story tonight is the murder of Katherine Arnold, a Mendenhall woman found strangled in her home earlier today. Kennett Township Police Chief has said they believe this was an isolated incident. Further details will be reported as they become available. Anyone with information is urged to contact the Kennett Township police…”

  “Hey. You ain’t heard a word I said.”

  He hadn’t. Not even enough to fake his way through. “I wanted to hear what they said about that murder. Poor woman.”

  “If I let myself get worked up over every sob story that come across the tube, I’d be in tears all day.”

  Warren scrubbed his face with the palms of his hands. When through, he let out an audible breath of air, and said, “So, what was it you were saying?”

  Rodney stubbed his cigarette into the ashtray on the coffee table, and leaned forward. “I was saying how the factory in town just posted a bunch of openings. You said you was a welder, right?”

  “Been a while, but yeah.”

  “It’s your lucky day. They got an opening.”

  “Why don’t you put in for it?”

  “I don’t know shit about welding. Besides, I’ve lived here all my life. Ain’t a soul inside fifty miles that don’t know ‘bout me. The only way I’d ever find me a job is to change my name to something like Smith or Brown and move to parts I ain’t never seen before.”

  Warren said, “Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” as a means to end a conversation that was not only boring him, but keeping his mind from matters of importance.

  Chapter Eleven

  Warren - 1997

  Wanda set the bushel of green beans on the porch floor next to a slat-back rocker she had picked up at a flea market the previous summer, and returned to the kitchen for a pot. Gail squeezed by her as she stepped through the doorway.

  “Hey, there you are. Why don’t you help me snap the ends off these beans? The sooner I finish up, the sooner I get to your birthday cake.” Wanda said in a deliberate sing-song voice.

  “Sorry, can’t,” Gail said over her shoulder on her way down the porch steps.

  She didn’t ask why, say goodbye, or even wish her a ha
ppy birthday. All she managed was, “Uh… OK,” before Gail was jogging across the yard.

  “Can I go swimming in the creek? Warren said it was OK with him if it was OK with you.”

  Wanda hadn’t heard Cheryl come up behind her as she watched her husband and Gail talk next to the woodpile where he’d been chopping wood for the upcoming winter. She turned toward Cheryl. “Exactly what do you think you’re doing, young lady?”

  “I’m asking like Warren told me to.”

  “I’m not talking about swimming, I’m talking about calling your father Warren. Did he tell you to call him by his name?” Wanda crossed her arms over her chest.

  “That’s what Gail calls him.”

  “Does she now?”

  Cheryl nodded, and asked, “So, can I?”

  “You may certainly not call your father by his name.”

  “I meant can I go swimming?”

  Wanda placed a hand on the girl’s head and turned her toward the door. “You can go play in your room, that’s what you can do. Don’t come down ’til I call you. Hear?”

  “But—”

  “You mind me, young lady. Now go.” Without waiting for Cheryl to obey, Wanda turned toward the yard in time to catch Gail pulling against the grip Warren had on her arm. As she opened her mouth to call out to her daughter, Gail broke free and took off running through the yard and down the road. The girl ran as though her tennis shoes were on fire. She mumbled, “What has gotten into these girls?” and removed her apron.

  When Warren spotted her headed toward him, he threw his head back just enough to demonstrate his irritation over the interruption. He let the handle of the ax slide through his hand until the head hit the ground. “You could have at least brought me a beer if you were coming out,” he said as he mopped his forehead with a yellowed handkerchief.

  She waited until she was directly in front of him before she spoke. “You can get your beer when you come in for lunch.”

  He picked the ax up and slung it over his shoulder. “What is it? I got work to do.”

  “Are you aware your daughter calls you by your given name?”

  A smile played on his lips. “I am.”

  “And that’s OK with you?”

  “Geez, Wanda. You’re always so uptight about every little thing they do. She’s turning thirteen, she started wearing a bra, you now let her wear mascara to school. I suppose she’s just feeling a might big in her britches. It’ll pass.”

  His cavalier attitude made her seethe on the inside. “It’ll pass alright. It passed right on down the line and now Cheryl is calling you Warren, too, and she’s not even close to being a teenager. The first time they call you that in front of the ladies at church, I’m going to die where I stand.”

  A smile played on his lips. “Promise?”

  “I mean it, Warren. You set them straight and start acting like a father instead of a friend.”

  Without a reply, he hoisted the ax over his head and brought it down dead center on an upturned piece of cherry. The log cracked open and the ax made a thud as it bit into the stump below. He looked over his shoulder, and asked, “Is that it?”

  “I mean it.”

  “I’ve gathered.”

  She held a finger in the air. “There is one more thing. What were you and Gail fighting about a few minutes ago?”

  “Who said we were fighting?”

  “I saw the way you had a hold of her arm, and she looked upset. The way she took out of here I think she was half expecting you to chase her.”

  He turned to face her, the annoyance in his eyes had faded. “I asked her if she’d give me a hand stacking the split wood and she blew me off. Like I said, she’s feeling pretty full of herself these days. Part of being a teenager.”

  She studied him a moment longer. He held her gaze, something he rarely did. He seemed to be analyzing her, no, regarding her. But why? She looked away first; she wanted to remember the last expression on his face. She took a step in the direction of the house, and said, “Fifteen minutes ’til lunch. Make sure you wash up first.”

  On the way to the house she felt something shift, almost like the first breeze of an impending summer storm. Her skin pricked, every hair stood on end. There was no breeze, not even a cloud in the baby blue sky, but somehow, she sensed an approaching storm.

  Chapter Twelve

  Warren - 2018

  “Dammit. Fucking piece of shit.” Warren swore at the dark computer screen for the fourth time in less than thirty minutes. He hadn’t had any luck finding his way around what Rodney called the World Wide Web, but anything he stumbled on was better than the mindless hours of television Rodney consumed each day.

  “Did she go out on you again?” Rodney asked between slurps of his melting popsicle.

  “Are you sure this thing isn’t broken? I wasn’t touching a damn thing when it went out this time.”

  At first, Rodney shrugged his disinterest. He then sat forward and pointed his dripping ice cream at the wall, and said, “You might want to check the extension cord. If it’s the brown one with a stripe of red nail polish near the plug, then it’s the one that shorts once in a while. Sister marked it for replacing, but knowing her she never got ‘round to it.”

  The crap piled around the desk was waist high and moving it was the last thing Warren wanted to do. He glanced to the TV. Some strange-looking cartoon character named Beavis told a lame joke, which set another character named Butthead off on a creepy laugh-a-thon. Maybe moving the mountain of trash wasn’t the last thing he wanted to do. “Here, give me a hand with this,” he said.

  “Just give me a sec.” Rodney tossed his stick into the ashtray. “This here’s the Cornholio episode. Funnier’n shit.”

  Warren wasted a moment deciding which of the two characters Rodney most resembled before disregarding him altogether. After a quick inspection he decided that to approach the task from underneath the desk would require much less lifting and moving than it would to try and pull the desk away from the wall. He dropped to his knees while holding the chair and the edge of the desk. He inched his way to the back of the desk on all fours. The hairs in his nose began to twitch as they worked to keep the dust from getting into his lungs. The first sneeze came so fast he wasn’t able to get a hand to his mouth and the force of it caused a plume of dust to lift from the floor and swirl around him. He let out four more sneezes in quick succession.

  “God damn, don’t you ever clean around here?”

  Rodney was lost in the world of two over-bearing cartoon characters, so mesmerized he didn’t even cast a side glance when Warren spoke.

  He found the wire leading from the back of the computer and ran his hand along it. Rather than leading to the right, which seemed the most logical direction, it led to the left. Reaching as far as the stacked boxes would allow, he was able to touch where the computer cord and extension cord joined. He sized up the boxes stacked in front of the extension cord. His head slumped forward.

  A Walmart commercial played on the television. Knowing he would have Rodney’s attention only until the cartoon came back on, he asked, “You got another extension cord? I’d have to remodel to get to this one.”

  Rodney scratched the top of his head and looked around as if he’d spot it among the mess. “Not sure. If we do I ‘spect if would be in the closet in the hallway or one of the junk drawers in the kitchen.” He made no motion to get off the couch telling Warren if he wanted it he’d have to find it himself.

  Once he had backed out of the cramped space, he brushed the heavy dust off his pants and hands. Looking between the closet and the kitchen, he chose to start with the closet. Much like the area around the desk, the closet stored box after box, all covered in a thick layer of dust. An old rifle stood in the front corner, the barrel a bit rusted and looking like it hadn’t been fired in more than a decade. He closed the door before he went into another sneezing fit and started rummaging around in the kitchen drawers. He had never been one to mind getting a little dir
t under his nails or working up a good sweat, but the squalor of this house made his skin want to pick up and walk off. Dirty silverware in a drawer next to the sink, packets of ketchup and mustard broke open covering everything in another drawer, and a mousetrap with a shriveled bit of one of its victims still caught in the spring were among some of the items he came across.

  He gave up his search and joined Rodney in the living room taking a seat in a beat-up leather recliner, the only place he was able to sit that didn’t make him want to run for a shower.

  “Hey, I been meaning to ask you, you put in for that welding job?” Rodney asked.

  His mind still on the computer, a sound rose in his chest but never quite formed a word. “Mm.”

  “That job at the factory. You put in for it?”

  “Yeah. Waiting on a call.” He leaned forward and stretched his back until his head was no more than a foot from the floor. “Is that TV connected to an extension cord?” He stood and went to the set.

  “Couldn’t tell you. As long as it comes on when I hit the power button, I don’t ask questions.”

  Warren ran his hand along the cord until it came to where it connected to an extension cord, which was plugged into the wall less than four feet away and within his reach.

  “Would you look at that. These goddam foreigners come over here and take our jobs and that ain’t enough. No. Now they’re taking our awards, too. And what the hell kind of name is that? B-L-O-O,” he spelled it out. “Sure as hell sounds foreign to me.”

  Although he had no interest in whatever Rodney was rambling about, Warren glanced to the screen. A man with a microphone was interviewing a dark-haired woman wearing a runner’s bib with the number 56 clearly displayed on it. In the banner running across the bottom of the screen were the words, SALI BLOO - FIRST PLACE / WOMEN’S 30-40 DIVISION.

  He looked away and closed his eyes to concentrate.

  Being hit with a taser wouldn’t have jolted him harder than the recollection when it hit. He remembered where he had seen such a common name spelled in such an uncommon manner and it caused every nerve ending to ignite. When he looked back to the TV, the woman was gone and the camera panned over both runners and spectators as the reporter finished his segment. He reached behind the TV and yanked the extension cord from the power cord, and then did the same thing at the outlet end almost knocking over a lamp.