by Torsten Krol
“Keys are on the hook . . .” he says, pointing to the wall. I took them down. The tag had a skull and crossbones sunk in clear plastic. I went out to the barn. There’s two lawnmowers in the back of the truck already, with mulching or nonmulching abilities, plus cans of gas and a weed whacker so I’m all set, apart from the pounding head. I got in the cab and started her up. Dean is the kind of driver that never cleans the cab out so there’s all kinds of trash in there, most of it fast-food containers and cups and so forth all drifting around on the floor, so much of it you couldn’t hardly see the rubber mats. The Dodge was an older model but the engine sounded good. I backed out and headed down the drive in low gear. There was a pair of fancy teardrop sunglasses on the dash so I put them on to ease my pain. Out on the road I turned left and headed for Callisto.
Along the way I stopped at International House of Pancakes for a breakfast I knew I’d appreciate later in the morning even if I had to shove it down myself right now. I had the blueberry waffles with cream and an orange juice. The food started making me feel better directly. I had brung in Dean’s schedule and map from the truck and soon figured out it’s a week by week setup, meaning most of his regular customers had him stop by and cut their lawns every other week or else just once a month. I pretty soon worked out which job was where, with the first one starting at ten, so I had to finish eating and get moving again, feeling much better now on account of eating a healthy breakfast.
1123 Tarrant Street, that was the first job. I found it and parked and wrestled one of the mowers down. The lawn looked okay to me, not what I would have bothered mowing if it was mine, but people with money want their lawn looking just right all the time and are prepared to pay for it if they can’t do it themselves because of old age or bad health or whatever. It was no surprise when a silver-haired old lady very nicely dressed come out and wanted to know where’s Dean. I told her he was sick today and I’m taking his place and did she want me to start on the back or the front lawn. She didn’t care so I started at the front and worked my way around to the rear, which took about an hour. The schedule had the prices for each customer marked next to the address, usually forty or fifty dollars depending on the lawn size, so when I was done and the mower loaded back onto the truck I knew how much to expect when I knocked at the door. The silver-haired lady come out and paid me forty dollars and said she hopes Dean gets better soon, which I said I would pass it on.
That first job pretty much set the tone for the five other jobs listed for Monday. It said in the schedule if each customer wanted the clippings blasted directly back into the lawn or collected in the grasscatcher for taking away in the big plastic bags Dean kept stored in the truck. The day went like clockwork, pretty much all walking in squares and curves for the amount of time it took. And then the payment, most of it in cash but one old fart says he only pays by check because you can’t be sure “unscrupulous types” aren’t under-reporting their income to the taxman, which is bad for the democratic system we have got here in the USA. He practically called me a conman, but the strange part is he never asked like the others did about where’s Dean, just handed me the check like it’s printed on gold leaf or something.
I stopped for lunch at McDonald’s and had two burgers because I’m truly hungry by then from all that walking around behind the mower under a hot sun. My head got hot, and the back of my neck started to burn from all that sunlight pouring down from above. There was an old baseball cap of Dean’s in the truck but it was filthy dirty and I have never wanted to wear someone else’s cap nor their underpants neither. And I was not prepared in the clothing department for lawnmowing and got very hot and sweaty in jeans and shirt that I already wore all day yesterday and last night. It’s a good thing lawnmowing is outdoor work because I stunk very bad by the end of the afternoon and was headed back to Dean’s with takeout Chinese for us both, which I bet he didn’t have in the basement freezer.
I had over three hundred dollars and a check in my pocket, and a feeling I had done a good job that day. This feeling was not there at the end of a working day at those other shit jobs like the grain elevator, so this was a new feeling. Maybe it wasn’t so much the job itself, I mean how can mowing lawns all day be interesting, but the fact that I did it to help out a friend. That’s how I was thinking about Dean, in terms of friendship even if we only knew each other for a single afternoon and night and a few minutes this morning. So that was a different feeling also.
Dean was on the porch rocker smoking a cigarette when I drove up and parked in the barn. He looked worn out and dirty like he’d been the one hard at work all day and not me. He still looked kind of sick too, so I asked if he’s okay. “I’m fine,” he says, not sounding too friendly. I showed him the takeouts and his face brightened. I sat next to him on the rocker and we ate them up right then and there. The food worked on him the way I hoped and he thanked me for helping out with the mowing. He counted the cash and peeled off a hundred for me.
“No charge,” I told him. “Room and board all accounted for.”
“Bullshit, you’re taking it.”
Which I did, not wanting to provoke an argument between friends. He lit a fresh smoke and we sat without talking for awhile. It was not like last night when the both of us were liquored up and talkative. Now he was quiet and played out. I told him about the old fart tax freak. “The others were okay, just handed over the cash.”
“Yeah, they even give me a tip sometimes. Did anyone do that?”
“Nope.”
He gave me a long look, like he’s doubting me. This made me uncomfortable but I did not show it, and he looked away. Just his doing that made me remember I’ll be leaving tomorrow. Dean would tow my car to the junkyard and that would be that. I hadn’t had time today to check if the enlistment office was still there in town or not, but there would be time enough for that tomorrow after the Monte Carlo got disposed of. I was determined to overlook Dean’s character shortcomings so the rest of the evening would proceed smooth, even if we had no liquor now to do the smoothing. The friendship was already over if you cared to think about it that way.
“I’ve got five bags of lawn clippings. Where do I dump them, around back?”
“No! Stay out of there. Dump it over that way,” he says, pointing. “You’ll see the pile. Mostly it blows away after awhile. Don’t take any of it around back.”
“Okay, I’m only asking.”
“I saw a rattlesnake back there today. You don’t want to mess with those fuckers.”
“Got it.”
I went to drag the bags away from the Dodge and empty them where he said. The job could have waited, but it was already late in the day and also I felt uncomfortable being near Dean now. He had gone all twitchy on me again. He didn’t offer to help with the dumping, just stayed on the porch smoking another cigarette.
When it was done I went back to the house. He had already went inside and was staring at the clock tick-tocking all solemn and serene in the hall, watching it like he’s waiting for a cuckoo to pop out, but it isn’t that kind of clock. I went upstairs to the bathroom to take a shower and got into the last of my clean clothes from the suitcase then come down again where Dean is sat in front of the TV watching after-school cartoon shows before the news starts. He sat there so quiet and distracted I wondered if maybe he’s on drugs, which would be bad news because most of those drugtaker types are creepy to be around unless you’re a doper too, which I have already said I am not. So the evening was not shaping up too good.
When the news come on Dean tried to find more cartoons, but they’re all finished so now he had to choose between news and game shows with lots of screaming contestants peeing their pants over the dishwasher and TV and brand new coupe. He settled for news. The lead item was the election next year and who all will be running against who. Bush is a second-term lame duck that won’t be running again and the Veep is bowing out on medical grounds after more heart trouble plus there was that quail-shooting thing that happened, so now
the big contender for the Republicans is looking like it’ll be Senator Ketchum. He’s one of those guys born to be a politician, rich man son of a rich man that jumped into the Washington pool young and never left it. He’s got a full head of graying hair that makes him look like a judge or something noble and wise, plus this profile like they have on old statues, all nose and jutting chin. He looks like a leader is what he looks like, which is already half the game won. His voice was a big asset too, very deep and friendly sounding. The senator is running on a ticket torn from Bush’s game plan, keeping up the tight security we have got every-place now and not dropping the ball so Al Kayda could do another sneak attack and destroy American lives. When Senator Ketchum spoke about guarding our shores and making the world safer for Freedom and Democracy it sounded more true than some other guy could make it.
“Someone oughta shoot that prick,” says Dean.
“Why?”
“So he’d be dead and I wouldn’t have to watch him spout bullshit from now till November next year.”
“He’s no worse than the rest.”
“You think so? What’s that say about the rest of ’em?”
I shrugged. “Beats me.”
“You’re some deep thinker, Odell.”
“I don’t much care for politics.”
“That’s good, because you don’t know what’s going on. You’re in the dark, my friend. That’s where most people are, in the dark. They got that way by sticking their heads so far up their asses they think it’s midnight.”
“I don’t think most folks are like that.”
“Shit, you’re exactly perfect to go vote then.”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean . . . Aah, forget it.”
That kind of sarcastic talk is a real irritation to me. I hate it when someone like Dean talks to me like I’m a fool that can’t understand the meaning of what he’s saying, especially when the one doing the talking isn’t one bit smarter than me, which I could tell Dean was not, no way. But saying nothing is better than getting into a big stupid argument over something so dumb as politics, so I let it go.
There was discomfort in the room now on account of Dean’s bad behavior, which got covered over by noise and light spilling from the TV. I said to Dean in the commercial break, “Okay if I wash some clothes in the machine?”
“Help yourself.”
I brung my dirty duds down to the laundry and put them in the tub on top of a shirt and pants Dean already put in there but forgot to wash. They were real dirty like he’d been doing yard work or something, only the house yard showed he wasn’t the home and garden kind, more like the kind that does diddly to keep things spick and span outdoors for the sake of appearances and real estate value. Dean was a lazy guy, I’d already made my decision on that, and it was one more reason not to have regret over the friendship going nowhere. I added soap powder and shut the lid, then had to figure out the buttons. That didn’t take long and soon there’s water rushing into the machine.
The laundry was at the back of the house, with its own door to the back yard where the clothesline was. I already had enough of sitting with Dean in front of the TV so I went out that door just to see the sun starting to go down and get some air that didn’t have cigarette smoke mixed all through it. The clothesline was the rotatory kind, sagging to the left a little but you could still use it. I wandered over and gave it a twirl that made the central column squeak and complain.
That was interesting for about five seconds, then I moved on to the chicken coop. It was the kind without a floor that you can pick up with two people and move it someplace else so you could fertilize different patches of the yard. Most folk don’t have chickens nowadays, they just get their eggs and drumsticks too from the supermarket. There was maybe nine or ten chickens scratching around on the loose and a couple more inside the coop where I guess they headed when the sun got low.
Then I saw there’s a mound of dirt behind the coop and walked around to look at it, thinking this must be what Dean got his clothes all dirty shoveling. It was a fair-sized pile and next to it there’s a hole. Not a round hole and not a square hole neither. A long hole, like for a coffin burial. I had to look inside, like anyone would, but there’s no corpse or coffin inside, just a long deep empty hole ready and waiting for a body. It couldn’t be for anything else, not that shape, that deep. A graveyard hole, that’s what Dean dug today, only who was it for? He didn’t want me coming back there, said it was dangerous because he saw a rattler, but he never did see any such thing, no, he wanted me not to see this hole is the reason.
Now I am not a cowardly person, very few men that’s six-three is that kind, but I will admit that standing over the graveyard hole I felt a kind of shiver all over. It puckered up my skin even if the air’s still warm. Dean, he never wanted me to see that hole because he’s got the intention of putting me inside of it. It was plain to see that was his plan, only not so easy to figure out why. What did I do to him that he needed to plan my death and burying this way? He was not a big man so he used all day to dig that hole while I’m out there mowing lawns and keeping his customers happy. No wonder he gave me a hundred bucks, he’s only going to take it back out of my pocket after he murders me.
That made me good and mad I don’t mind admitting. The two-faced way he did things was a lesson in human nature, which is unpredictable at the best of times. That did not stop me trying to figure out why he would make preparations this way for taking me down without a single good reason for it that I could see. And I bet he intended putting the chicken coop over the hole once it was filled in again so’s no one would notice the fresh-turned dirt if they come snooping around. But no one would come snooping around because nobody even knew I was here, so how would they miss me when I’m dead and buried under a chicken coop? It was a clever and deviant plan he had all right, but I know about it now, which is the best way not to let a plan like that happen. It was a lucky break for me, coming out into the yard like this before the sun went down.
I backed away from the hole and went inside the house through the laundry door, then back into the living room where Dean is still sat in front of the TV, which is giving the stock report. He says to me, “You pick up any more beer in town?”
“You never said to.”
“Well, don’t you do things that nobody told you to?”
“Sure.”
“Only not today, huh?”
“I got the clothes in the wash.”
“That’s fine, Odell. You’d find time goes by quicker while you wait for the wash cycle if you got a Coors in your hand, but it makes no difference to me.”
“Okay.”
He wasn’t talking sense, but even if he was I only would’ve heard half of it, my mind was all aswirl with trying to figure out what’s happening here. He didn’t look crazy, even if he got twitchy now and then, so what was the motive behind this plan? I never did a thing to hurt him for motivation to murder. Maybe he is one of them crazy killers that does it for no reason except the insane part of his brain telling him he has to. They always say the craziest axe murderers and serial killers and cannibals etcetera look just like you and me. They don’t drool and giggle crazy and roll their eyes, nothing like that, no, they drive to the store and bring home the groceries and pay their bills and stop at the stoplights. Until that switch in their head gets flipped and then they’re someone else, only still disguised as theirself if you see what I mean. So that must be the kind Dean was right now watching the TV like he didn’t have murder on his mind, just beer.
“I won’t need to be staying here tonight again, Dean, not if there’s the inconvenience of it.”
“Huh?”
“I’m saying I can go some other place.”
“Driving what? Your wheels are dead, dude.”
“I could walk.”
“You’re talking shit now. Siddown and watch TV. And use the clothes dryer.”
“Pardon me?”
“Use the clothes dryer t
o dry the clothes. Don’t go out in the yard using the clothesline, not with that fuckin’ snake out there. Snakes get active at night. I don’t want the responsibility of someone getting snakebit on my property and then suing me over it.”
“I wouldn’t sue anybody for a snakebite. Maybe I’d sue the snake seeing as he’s the one that did it.”
Dean laughed. It was an evil laugh, not humorous. He was playing with me now, very confident he could murder me and get away with it, leaving his victim under the chicken coop for all time.
I sat down in the armchair again and tried to get things settled in my mind about how not to get murdered. First off, he must be planning to do it while I’m asleep seeing as he must know he can’t attack someone my size while I’m awake. That meant I had to stay awake to keep it from happening. Once he saw I wasn’t asleep he’d just forget about it, what else could he do? Unless he had a gun. With a gun it makes no difference if the shootist is big or small, the shootee winds up dead anyway.
“Why don’t you go shoot it?”
“Huh?”
“Shoot the snake, then everyone’s okay.”
“Oh sure, like it’s gonna be out there all coiled up in a neat pile waiting for me to come out and blast it.”
“Have you got a gun to do it?”
“Got a shotgun, ten-gauge. Don’t have no shells for it, though.”
The liar! Nobody keeps a shotgun with no shells, that’s just bullshit, but he said it real casual to make me believe it’s true. He was a cool killer all right, sat there watching the weather report like he isn’t planning to blow my brains out and bury me deep and put the chicken coop over me instead of a tomb-stone. There is no dignity in finishing that way.
“Hey, Dean?”
“What?”
“Those eggs yesterday, were those supermarket eggs?”
