The Lumberjack

by Erik Martin Willén

  “You had to call Tom, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I most certainly did. You never would, and I respect you for that, but a desperate housewife from hell like that one I’ve met one time too many. Too much money never translates to class or manners. She can take a step off a fucking cliff wearing a parachute with a hole in it for all I care.”

  “Her action and your reaction—thank you for that. Hi, I’m Claire Hancock.” Claire extended her hand, and Tammy shook it like a man.

  “Sorry for my crude language. Never intended to start a scene.”

  “Don’t worry about it, the show was already going on. You’re Christina’s best friend Tammy, I take it.”

  “In person. Again, pardon my French.”

  Behind Tammy stood a typical lumberjack, with one exception: this one was a tad tipsy, evidenced by his big red nose and terrible breath. “(hic) Fuck the French!” he pronounced.

  A surprised Tammy turned around and looked at her new fan, inspecting him curiously from head to toe, with a mischievous expression on her face.

  Oh no, he’s done it now, here we go… Christina thought, trying to hide her face in her hands while leaning on the counter. Tammy smiled devilishly and, with a pitch-perfect tone, said, “Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir?”

  The drunk guy’s eyes shone like bright stars and he threw his arms up in the air, shouting back in perfect French, “Oui, mon ange aimé!”

  Tammy’s eyes went wide, and now she even looked hesitant; or perhaps “desperate” might be a better word. Christina, who was also fluent in French, lay on the counter laughing. There were many surprised stares in Hancock Tool Supply that day, and eventually twice as many rumors would soon spread throughout the little community.

  The drunk hurried to his new aimé with arms extended, ready to embrace Tammy. She, on the other hand, turned quickly to Claire. “Do you sell any guns?!”

  “No, dear, that would be across the street.”

  Ted Hagglund missed the last part of the commotion when he left the store and followed the wicked old lady. He brushed by some idiot in a suit, barely touching him, but the two-legged hit the sidewalk like a drooling drunk. Nero had never really realized his immense physical strength. He stopped on the way by a mailbox and dropped a brown oversized envelope inside, and then he resumed his stalking. And now there are two pretty little things, he thought.

  Wailing sirens once again filled the idyllic town of Skull Creek, and in the distance came the sound of a low-flying helicopter, all heading towards the mountain range where the gold miners delved for the precious metal. Dozens of people looked on with that questioning expression that meant, Now what?

  Ted Hagglund ignored the commotion. He knew what that was about, but today he was unusually happy—especially whenever he looked at the woman a block ahead, who was shouting into her phone while gesticulating with her arms as if she were fighting an invisible foe with a sword—and he wasn’t even listening to Beethoven.

  * * * * *

  JOSEPH GREEN was happier than he had ever been, but at the same time he was furious. First, he had seen a real, live Hollywood star walking across the street. He’d read about her in the local paper, which claimed she now lived in Skull Creek; and ever since, he’d tried to locate her. He knew he was everything she needed in a man. However, he was sure she had just seen him being humiliated when that damned stranger made him lose his footing, causing him to fall to the sidewalk.

  However, this time there would be an eye for an eye, he decided.

  He stalked his perpetrator with the stare he had so often practiced in front of a mirror. He followed him just as they did in the movies; he knew he was the perfect secret agent type, and he did enjoy himself doing it. Even better, he was finally going to use the gun he had just picked up, having waited over a week for the stupid permit. He had planned to find the big bully who had embarrassed him his first night in town at the Lumberjack. He had never used a gun before, but he had seen people use them often enough in the movies, and he had played many computer games. He was ready, and he was going to scare the crap out of the rude bastard. He wasn’t going to shoot him, just scare him. He had the pistol stuck inside his pants, and the box of cartridges lay in his briefcase with a cleaning kit. What that was used for he had no idea.

  He looked over his now-dirty fake Armani suit, and tried to brush some of the dirt off; and then he noticed the greasy stain on his faux silk tie. Now he was very upset. He looked at his Rolex replica; there was still time before his next meeting, hopefully the last in this God-forsaken place.

  “Good, the idiot is walking to the same parking lot as me,” he muttered happily. He had to step aside as a dark blue Jaguar flew by with some old lady screaming at her chauffeur. The lumberjack bastard went to a truck and quickly pulled out of the parking lot.

  Joseph Green got into his kit car—it looked like a Ferrari convertible but it had an Audi engine, and the automatic roof didn’t work, he really had to struggle to get it attached, so the damn thing was down—and carefully followed the man who had humiliated him. He placed his gun on the passenger seat, then he felt that he needed some motivation and background score, like they had in the movies, as he drove after the lowlife. He cranked up the volume for everyone to hear, and from the speakers blasted I’m So Beautiful by Divine.

  * * * * *

  TED HAGGLUND followed Mrs. Tulip’s Jaguar for about twenty minutes. They were heading towards a wealthier part of the county, and he didn’t know that region very well. Then again, it didn’t matter, because this was only a recon. He already knew the old bag would soon become just another number. He had trouble concentrating on his own thoughts, though, because killing the young girl bothered him, and that was a strange new sensation for him. The boy, not so much. Nits made lice. He’d briefly considered skinning the two kids and displaying their hides to the father to see how hard he cried, but just couldn’t do it. And their daddy had responded as expected anyway.

  He knew what he had to do, and he’d already put his plan in motion. Removing the two-legged in the Jaguar was a must, but it wouldn’t be enough. He had limited time and knew that he was treading on thin ice. He shook his head to clear his mind, then switched on the radio.

  "And in other news—and this is sad, folks—another baby dolphin has died on a beach while its mother screamed from the ocean, just so hundreds of people could take selfies with it.

  Nero hit the radio so hard he broke it, and at the same time he hit his brakes even harder, coming to a complete stop. He was so enraged by the news on the radio that he didn’t even notice something bump into the rear of his truck. He leaned forward over his steering wheel and wept, tears pouring down. He hit the steering wheel over and over again, saying “Purge, purge, purge,” and eventually he started yelling the same word over and over again: “PURGE, PURGE, PURGE…”

  Joseph Green’s car slammed hard into the back of the pickup truck as it came to a sudden stop, and he wasn’t wearing his seat belt. He lay over his steering wheel for long moments—he hadn’t hooked up the airbags—trying to get his bearings and catch his breath. As the blood seeped out of his nose, his mind gradually returned to reality. When he noticed the devastation to his car, which was stuck in the rear right side of the truck in front of him, he lost it. He slowly got out, having to climb, because the driver door was jammed shut. The entire front of his kit car had dug itself into the right rear tire. Steam poured up from what was left of his engine and hood. The entire front was totaled, being made mostly of plastic and fiberglass.

  He grabbed the sides of his head with both hands and pulled his hair. He had teary eyes, and blood oozed out of his nose. He picked up the rearview mirror from the passenger seat, and when he saw himself all black and blue with blood all over, he screamed again. The music from the car speakers worked normally, but that was it. He ran up to the idiot in the truck, and when he realized it was the bonehead he been following, he became outraged.

  “Motherfucker! Wh
at the hell do you think you’re doing, you fucking inbred bastard! You fucking totaled my ride, man, you fucking asshole, what the fuck is wrong with you, man? You fucking crybaby, you hear me, you just fucked me good, motherfucker! Got nothing to say, huh? Think you’re some kind of wiseass motherfucker? Yeah, well, I’ll show you!”

  Even more upset than before he hurried back to his car for the pistol. It lay on the passenger’s side floor; he grabbed it and then he headed back to the crying old man. He then realized he had to load the weapon; again he went back to the car. He found his briefcase and took out the box of cartridges. He fumbled with the box, and half of its contents fell onto the driver's seat and the road. He looked at his pistol, having no clue how to load it—he’d never had asked the clerk in the gun shop, because he didn’t want to seem like an amateur. Eventually he hit a button or something, because part of the fucking gun broke. He picked up the slim metal case and then realized what it was, a magazine, and he started to load it. “It sure holds a lot of bullets,” he muttered as he was loading it. Every now and then he shouted out threats to the fucker who had caused the accident.

  Joseph shouted in his best street dialect, just the way they did it in the movies. “You just wait, man, Ima bust a cap in your ass, motherfucker…jeez, how many fucking bullets does this thing take? You hear me, motherfucker, Ima cap yo ass!”

  With his tongue sticking out from between his teeth, he loaded the gun magazine as fast as he could, once in a while reaching into the driver’s seat for more rounds. The music spurred him on: You Think You’re a Man by Divine.

  He dropped the magazine on the ground and kneeled to pick it up, but someone beat him to it. Joseph looked up at the old man, upset. “Do you like dolphins?” the old man asked as he handed Joseph the loaded magazine.

  “What?”

  “Do you like dolphins?” There was a sad vibe coming from the old man.

  “NO I don’t fucking like dolphins, unless they’re on my fucking tuna melt sandwich, you fucking mountain-man inbreed! You fucker, you ruined my fucking ride, man!”

  The old man’s voice changed, sounding more neutral. “You eat dolphins?”

  “Yeah, motherfucker, I fucking eat dolphins, and now I’m gonna fucking eat your ass! You owe me money for this shit, it’s your entire fucking fault, man!” Joseph screeched. He fumbled with his gun and magazine, while the old man observed him with a neutral expression. He finally took the gun and magazine from Joseph’s hands and did the job for him. Joseph looked at the old man, surprised and horrified; the old man had taken his spine! But instead of using it on him, he handed the gun back to Joseph.

  Joseph took a step back and pointed the gun at the old bastard. “You better have some fucking dough, man, because you’re going to pay me for this shit.”

  “The taste.”

  “What the fuck?”

  “What does dolphin taste like?”

  “How the fuck would I know?”

  “You said you ate them.”

  “Oh, you think you’re funny now, motherfucker?” He aimed his gun at the ground between them; time to scare the bastard. He pulled the trigger, but nothing happened.

  “The safety is on, and you have to chamber a round for it to work.”

  “What?”

  In one agile motion, Nero removed the gun from Joseph’s shaking hands with ease. “Look here. I’m holding your courage in my hands. Do you see?”

  Joseph swallowed hard; now he was starting to get nervous. He trembled and stuttered, “You, uh, man, I didn’t mean anything, man, I was confused from the accident…sir, I most sincerely apologize for my poor behavior.”

  “I just heard on the news that people on a beach had murdered a baby dolphin because they wanted to take pictures with it. What are your thoughts on that?”

  Nero nonchalantly tossed the gun into the car, then looked at his gloved hands as more tears poured down his face.

  Joseph started to get some of his courage back. “What’s with you and this fucking dolphin?”

  One minute later, Nero carefully placed the lifeless body with its broken neck back into the driver’s seat. With his truck, he pushed the ugly little fake sports car into the ditch. No one had seen him; then again, he no longer cared. He kept thinking about the little dolphin, and its mother screaming from the water as it dried out and slowly died. How cruel these two-legged creatures were; Nero would never get used to the evil men did.

  He was still crying over the loss of the baby dolphin as he drove away.

  Christina shouted in agony, “The bells, the bells, the bells, my head, the fucking bells…you bastards!” She lay in her bed, staring at the nosy owl, and flipped the Peeping Tom off.

  “Wakey, wakey, you lazy brats! Get up, breakfast is served, the sun is shining, and the cows need milking!”

  Peter and Kevin woke the two vixens up with drumbeats, using whatever they could get their hands on, including pot lids and ladles. Tammy charged out of the guest suite like a tornado; she wasn’t going to take this shit from those two clowns. A few minutes later, she dragged herself back into the house, soaking wet. Christina sat like a zombie on one of the barstools by the kitchen island, and from the kitchen came the scent of cooked food.

  “I can’t believe Dumb and Dumber threw me in the pond,” Tammy croaked.

  “Yeah, it’s a bad habit they have now and then.”

  “Come now, lassies, what’s with the sad faces? Here, have some breakfast.”

  Peter slammed down two large plates with the works on both: White beans in tomato sauce, crispy traditional bacon, Canadian bacon, scrambled eggs, hash browns, pancakes with sticky maple syrup, and, of course, toast. Each girl took one glance, and then each scrambled to the guest bathroom. Peter slid one plate to Kevin, while starting on the other.

  “Yep, they definitely got drunk last night.”

  “Go figure.”

  “Check ‘em out, they’re back.”

  Both Christina and Tammy just stood in the living room, staring at the two men; both looked like they had just stepped out of some horror movie.

  “That’s so not fair.”

  “What, Tammy?”

  “You hit me, Kevin, and threw me into the pond.”

  “Hit you?”

  “You slapped my ass!”

  “So?”

  “I’m just a little girl and you’re a big nasty boy. Sexual harassment!”

  “Nah, it’s okay.”

  “How’s that okay, you idiot!”

  “I’m gay, duh. How can I sexually harass you if I’m gay?”

  Tammy gave him a bewildered expression, and then she looked at Christina.

  Christina patted her on her shoulder and said, “No worries, Tam, I found out about it, and they told me you and Tom already knew.”

  Peter mused while cleaning up the kitchen that neither of the girls had told the other about his and Kevin’s secret, even though they were best friends. Now he respected both even more than he had before, and he knew Kevin would feel the same. He placed two strange, greenish cocktails on the counter, and nodded his head towards the girls for them to take one each.

  “Oh shit, Dr. Merlin’s fucking magic drink.”

  “No cursing, Christina,” Peter tutted.

  “My house, you bas…”

  Peter just gave her The Stare.

  Both girls had to struggle to empty the glasses, and were just setting them down when someone knocked on the open main door. “Anyone home?”

  Kevin smiled towards the strangers behind the girls, “Hi there, Robert and Boris, come on in. Coffee?”

  Christina’s eyeballs practically popped out, and she beat a hasty retreat upstairs.

  “What happened to her?” Tammy asked, surprised.

  She turned around and stared at Robert, and like a fool, let out a long whistle. “Crap, you weren’t supposed to hear that.” Suddenly, Tammy too found her wings and flew upstairs.

  Robert walked into the kitchen area slowly, pointing hi
s right thumb over his shoulder and frowning. “Anyone?”

  Neither Peter nor Kevin answered him, just shaking their heads. Peter poured Robert and Boris two cups of steaming hot coffee.

  “Tammy, come and look at this shit!”

  “What, Christina?”

  The girls were on the second floor, looking down at Robert’s truck. Next to it stood a tall blonde in denim shorts, cowboy boots with matching hat, and a shirt tied at her belly button. “The bastard I told you about brought his girlfriend.”

  “She looks hot.”

  “Thank you, that’s not helping.”

  “Just go with it. So he has a girlfriend. Move on, silly.”

  They joined the others in the kitchen, and Christina put on her Hollywood attitude. Kevin lifted his eyebrows when he noticed the cold radiating from Christina when Robert and Boris greeted her. He gave her a suspicious look as he said, “I think Robert has something to ask Your Highness.”

  Christina shot Kevin a scowl. She turned towards Robert, who held his hat in front of him, thumbing it nervously. “I don’t mean to cause any problems, he said, “but there’s someone very important to me who has kept bothering me about something lately…so I wonder if it’s possible to get your autograph?”

  Christina, who had at one time often signed autographs but only reluctantly did so in her home, shrugged and said, “Sure, why not. So who do I make it out to?”

  “Wait just a minute, please.” Robert hurried outside, and shortly thereafter returned with the blonde.

  Christina couldn’t hide her fury, and did nothing to conceal it. “You know, normally I’d rather not be bothered by this sort of thing in my home.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry!” the other girl said. “I don’t want to get my brother into any trouble, so I’ll go.”

  Robert shrugged and said sheepishly, “I told you this was a bad idea, Patty.”

  Christina raised her eyebrows and immediately felt like an ass. Tammy leaned near her, shaking her head. “Judgmental bonehead,” she whispered.