Azaleas Don't Bloom Here

by Frank Klus

  “Cut that out.”

  Cassandra snickered. “I’m guessing about five-seven.”

  “I’m five-nine.”

  “Okay, five-eight. And that cute little face and blonde hair,” she laughed again. Eugene looked angry. She expected that reaction, and put on a faux pout. “Everyone knows you. I couldn’t wait to meet you. Ray told me about you when you were both just kids.”

  “Does this have something to do with my father?”

  “Not really.” Cassandra was charming and bewitching at the same time. She made him feel uncomfortable.

  “I used to be in the Lightning Squad when they were good and honest people. That changed when Jaydan Casimir was made the commandant. We used to care about people, and then he made a deal with the RAC.”

  “Aren’t those the…uh…oh, I can’t remember what those assholes are called.”

  Cassandra wriggled her nose and said, “Real Americans for Change; and you’re right, they are a bunch of assholes; a bunch of fascists used by the American Party to keep people in line. The Lightning Squad was formed as a counter to them. We were the good guys.” Cassandra looked away, frowning. After a moment she continued. “Then we got Jaydan Casimir. He made a deal with the RAC.” Cassandra paused. She became serious and then turned back to Gene, looking quizzical.

  “Why are you driving a Lexus? Are you nuts?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Boy, you are naïve.”

  He continued to stare at her.

  “As I was saying, the Squad aren’t the nice guys we were supposed to be. The RAC tried to control people while the Squad fought the RAC. We tried to help people; made sure everyone had enough to eat; the homeless got shelter; and to keep the RAC away from the populists—stuff like that. We’d take money from the RAC, who got money from the government. We’d use it to help the people. Then Casimir changed all that. Now we don’t touch the RAC. There’s no money for the people. The Squad changed. Now they rob anyone who looks like they have money and keep it for themselves. Casimir said we needed to operate more like a business.” She wrinkled her nose as she said it.

  Cassandra turned away again, with a faraway look, as she stared out the window.

  Gene looked pensively at her. After a minute she turned back toward Gene and took a deep breath before continuing. “That’s why Bog pulled you over this morning.”

  “Bog? Is that the Squad leader?”

  “Yeah, that’s his nickname because he looks like death. He’d pull over anyone for the least infraction; anyone who looks like he has money. If he can clock you one mile over the speed limit he gets half the fine—about a hundred bucks. Do yourself a favor—lose the Lexus.”

  “He looked like his face was burned off.”

  “Yeah. He pulled over the wrong motorist one time. The guy raced away from him, and Bog pursued him. Then the guy turned around and started right after him; tried to run him over. Bog slammed on his brakes, but it was too late. He smashed into the guy’s car. Bog’s cycle caught fire as he laid there unconscious. The other squad members pulled him away from the cycle, but he was pretty badly burned. He almost died. It changed him.”

  “Changed him? How?”

  “He was an all right guy. Ray knew him. Then after the accident he changed. Hated the people he once tried to help. He figured that the only one needing help was himself. He hated when people freaked out upon seeing him. He wanted to hurt them. He’d find any reason to ticket them. It became all about the money with him.”

  Gene tightened his grip around the steering wheel. “Is that what you’re protecting me from? This guy, Bog?”

  “Not Bog! I just told you why he pulled you over.” She looked away briefly and then turned back to Gene. “Dennis!”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “Look, Mr. Businessman, Dennis isn’t your friend. Okay?”

  “What are you talking about? I’ve known him all my life. We were best—”

  “Your re-acquaintance with your childhood friend wasn’t a coincidence.”

  “I know. He was watching after me because of the squabble concerning my father.”

  “He was watching you because he was ordered to. He knows you; knows he can win you over. You may have been childhood friends once, but I tell you, Gene, he doesn’t care about you now. He’s just doing his duty.”

  “I had lunch with him at his house. He and his wife are nice people. He just got me out of a Brigade jail. You can’t just waltz into my life and tell me who I can call a friend.”

  “They’re not your friends. Dennis is liked by the Commandant, and he knows it. He’s in line for a big promotion, and his wife wants more money.”

  “Why should I believe you? I don’t even know you.”

  Cassandra tensed up and raised her voice. “Look, Mr. Tycoon. Your neck is half in the sling. When it’s all the way there, it’ll be too late. I won’t be able to save you.”

  Gene turned toward her with arms waving and almost shouting, “Why me? What have I done? I work. I mind my own business. Okay, I occasionally speed. I’m sure I’m not the only one. Now, I’m public enemy number One? Are you kidding? What have I done that I need your protection?”

  Cassandra was calm. “You know Harold Zinney. He’s public enemy number One. They’re afraid you’ll go to New America. They believe you’ll then be on the inside, working with the hated one on the outside.”

  Gene calmed down now. “It isn’t like we’d made plans to what…overthrow the government? Nevertheless, in this paranoid society I get the point.”

  “At this point, all they want Dennis to do is keep an eye on you to make sure you don’t go running off to the New World. But there’s one more enemy you have.”

  Eugene didn’t understand and continued to stare at his visitor.

  “Jaydan Casimir.” Cassandra stopped to gauge Eugene’s reaction. There was none. “He’s…well, I’ll tell you later. Suffice to say—stay away from Dennis.”

  “Why did you stop? What about Casimir?”

  “You won’t believe me. When you’re ready to hear more we’ll talk again. There’s a Phillips station about three miles down the road. Let me off there.”

  “Then what?”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  It was late when Gene got home, and Catherine wasn’t there. Gene decided to fix himself a drink, go outside, sip his brandy, and reflect on all that happened.

  Was Cassandra right? Is Dennis bad? What’s wrong with wanting more money? I saw how he and his wife lived. It makes sense to want a promotion; heck, Dennis even talked about it. And Teresa—she was so nice. They were genuine. I’m sure of it.

  Eugene got up to go into the kitchen and make dinner when he suddenly realized something. He hadn’t checked the garage to see if Catherine’s car was there. There was room for only one car in the garage, so he let Catherine use it. He set the drink down and went to the side door that opened into the garage and looked. It was there. Then, where is she? Is she in the bedroom?

  Gene called his wife, but there was no answer. He went upstairs to the bedroom and found her lying on the bed. He assumed she was sleeping it off, but something didn’t look right. He approached her, half in fear. As he got to her side of the bed she didn’t appear to be breathing, and her skin color was pallid.

  Gene grabbed his phone and called 9-1-1. The police and EMS showed up a few minutes later, and they carried Catherine into the ambulance. They tried to resuscitate her but she wasn’t responding. The EMT told him not to lose hope, and they’d bring her to St. Gregory’s. He could follow them, but he was interrupted before he could get into his car.

  “Mr. Sulke, I’m detective Ralph Wismar. I’m sorry about your wife, but I can tell you that she’s dead. The EMT can’t confirm that because he isn’t a doctor, but there’s no hurry getting to the hospital. We have to make sure this isn’t a crime scene so I hope you don’t mind if we look around.”

  “Yes, I mind,” Eugene said. “I’d like t
o be with my wife right now.” The police weren’t interested, and they walked right in.

  “I have rights! Unreasonable search and seizure.” Wismar ignored him. “Please,” Eugene said, “I need to be with my wife right now.”

  Wismar and a couple police officers began looking around. One went to the bedroom and one to the kitchen. Wismar stayed with Eugene. The guy in the kitchen called to Wismar. “I found something, sir. It looks like a suicide note.” The note was sitting on the kitchen table. Wismar, careful not to touch it until he completed his investigation, read the note.

  Gene, get away quickly.

  The detective turned to Eugene, who also read the note. “Do you know what it means?”

  “No.”

  “Does she mean get out of the house? Get out of town? Get out of the country?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Another officer took a picture of the note.

  “There’s no sign of a struggle. No sign of robbery. Everything is orderly. It appears to be a suicide, but I want to order an autopsy, if that’s okay with you?”

  Jesus, now they want to desecrate her as well, he thought.

  “We can get a court order.”

  “Fine!” Gene felt the acceptance of defeat.

  The police left and Gene went to the hospital, where Catherine was confirmed dead. He signed some papers and returned home to find a house as empty as a forgotten dream. He began pacing the room with an empty mind. He felt like a shell with nothing alive inside. He was aware of the silence; the emptiness. He felt like the roads in his friend’s neighborhood—dying, becoming less road. He felt the meaninglessness of his own existence; the pointlessness of going on. He wondered if this was what Catherine felt in her desperation to leave this world.

  Tears welled up and he reached for his comfortable old recliner and collapsed into it. He couldn’t control his emotions any longer. Tears streamed down his cheek, and he felt dead. Catherine was his wife, partner, coach, confidant, and lover. Everything that gave his life meaning revolved around her. Now she was gone, and he couldn’t care about anything else anymore.

  Night wore on in insufferable certitude. Hour after hour passed with no relief from the pain of his loneliness. He couldn’t sleep; couldn’t feel tired. He’d pace the house, then sit, and then pace some more—all with no thoughts, plans, or understanding of all that happened. His mind wandered in a journey that had no destination.

  As the first rays of light streamed through the living room curtains, Eugene sat back in his chair and began sobbing. Why couldn’t she just come to me? I could’ve helped her. Eugene reflected on the other morning; that terrible morning. Catherine wanted to tell Gene something, but couldn’t. Why? He tried to understand what Cassandra and Catherine told him, but Gene still couldn’t put the pieces together. Anger began to replace his thoughts as he stood up again. Once more the tears freely flowed as he began shouting. “CATHERINE! WHY DID YOU DO THIS? I NEED YOU. I CAN’T GO ON WITHOUT YOU. WHY? WHY? WHY?” He collapsed onto the rug near the chair and pounded on the floor. All emotional control was gone now. “Please come back. I need you!”

  Eugene sprawled out on the floor, crying, his mind emptying again as he felt the will to go on drift just out of his reach.

  Chapter 5:

  The Face of Evil

  “Wismar here. I’m afraid I have some bad news, sir. Catherine killed herself with a drug overdose.”

  “Shit, I knew she would. She thought boozing it up would turn me off; that I’d leave her alone. Shit! All it did was make me angrier.” The man began to smile. “Look, I found someone else—early middle age; nice looking. Found her in jail doing time for extortion.” The man began grinning; his gleaming white teeth shone through the wrinkles around his mouth. “My little sweetie. I’m going to love fucking that cunt.

  “I remember that last night with Catherine. I picked her up and she comes over all shit-faced. I just wanted to kill her. Hell, if she didn’t do it herself, I would have. I wanted to do it especially hard. You should have heard her scream, Wismar. Then she started shouting Sulke’s name—’Gene! Gene!’” he said in falsetto voice. “I just pounded her even harder. She’d scream some more and then began whimpering, ‘please stop,’ and then calling that bastard’s name. I plunged in harder still. I started screaming at her to shut up, but she just kept screaming, and pleading with me to stop. I just laughed and screamed right back at her. I swear to God, Wismar, I wanted to split her in two. She was nothing to me—just a plaything. This new girl is going to be my wife. And I’ll fix it so that no matter what I do to her she’ll love it.” He burst into a broad laughter. “Imagine that, Wismar. No matter what I do she’ll scream for more. She’s going in for treatment right away.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Wismar said. “I told you that’s what you should have done with Catherine from the beginning.”

  “Treatment is expensive, but I realize that now.”

  “You’ll need to treat Sulke as well.”

  “Why?”

  “He’ll make trouble for you.”

  “According to O’Reilly he’s no threat.”

  “I don’t know. If he ever finds out you’re behind his wife’s death….”

  “I have clean hands. She chose to drink. I’m not responsible.”

  “All I know is that women seem to die when you finish with them.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Take Anna. I got the police report. Good job. Road rage. Police say she cut some hot head off, and he shot her. Nobody saw anything. It’s under investigation, but I don’t suppose it will go anywhere.”

  “You think you know so Goddamn much, Wismar.”

  “All right, all right. Look, what do you want me to do with Sulke? If you aren’t going to treat him, I could have him arrested. Murder. He talks, you know—I mean about his marital problems. Everyone knows she drinks. He even told a co-worker he just had a terrible argument with Catherine right before she killed herself. I could make it look like he did it—used the pills and booze to make it look like she committed suicide. There’s a bunch of witnesses I could bring in—you know—establish motive. I could get his prints on the bottles. A sympathetic jury and judge, and bye-bye Mr. Sulke.”

  The man listened with interest. “Yeah, that would fix it. See what you can find out.”

  The upstairs alarm clock had been ringing when Eugene awoke on the living room floor. His clothes were disheveled and his face was still moist when he slowly climbed to his feet. The alarm buzzed like a swarm of bees as Eugene ascended the stairs to the master bedroom. He stared at the bed from the doorway, almost afraid to enter. The alarm blared away relentlessly, telling him it’s time for work. Work was the farthest thing from Eugene’s mind as he stared at the bed; the alarm still beckoning. He slowly walked in and turned it off, sitting on Catherine’s side of the bed.

  No tears christened his cheeks nor moistened his eyes now. He felt dead as he stared into nothing. Then he directed his attention to the nightstand next to him. A lamp, a glass, a book, an empty bottle of gin and a half-empty bottle of pills stood watch over Eugene’s shattered life. He stared at the pills, and after awhile, picked them up and stared at them some more. As he began to unscrew the cap, the downstairs phone rang. Eugene stopped and turned toward the door. He put the bottle down, slowly got up and then descended the stairs, making his way toward the kitchen. He stared at the phone until it stopped ringing. He turned around and started for the stairs again only to stop when his pocket phone rang.

  “Son,” his mother said, “I just heard what happened. Oh, you poor boy. The hospital called and said she’d killed herself.”

  Eugene listened, but said little.

  “Come over, son. I’ll make you some breakfast and coffee. Are you going to work?”

  “Uh, no, mom; I guess not. I hadn’t thought of it.” Eugene’s voice was cracked and rough.

  “I’ll make you some bacon and eggs, and brew some coffee.”

&nbs
p; “That’s okay, mom. I’m just going to stay home today. I have to make funeral arrangements, anyway.”

  Eugene’s voice gave him away. She was worried. She didn’t like the sound of it. “I want you to come over right now. You shouldn’t be alone. I’ll make the funeral arrangements. I’ll let your father know.”

  “No, mom. I’ll be all right.”

  “Eugene, I insist. This is your mother talking to you. You come over right now. I’m starting breakfast this minute and if you aren’t here in fifteen minutes I’ll call a cab and come right over.”

  “All right, mom. Give me about a half hour.”

  “Sit down, Eugene. I have your breakfast right here. When did you last eat?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Eugene, you look terrible. Stay here today, okay?”

  He forced a smile as he picked at his food. She poured a cup of coffee and set it down. “Tell me everything. What was going on with her?”

  It was painful to discuss it with his mother, but he knew he had no other choice. He told her about Dennis and the Lightning Squad; her dramatics when he invited him over; about her drinking; and her disappearances.

  “This doesn’t sound like her at all. Do you think this has something to do with the Lightning Squad?”

  “I don’t know. Really, mom. I’ll be all right. I’ll make the funeral arrangements and go back to work right afterwards.”

  She was worried, but nothing she said could convince him to stay.

  Eugene returned home only briefly to shower and dress, and then he went out. He let Stuart Everson know what happened and took some time off. He found a funeral home, picked out a casket and burial plot, and then he went to the shopping district in the town square.

  The streets of the square were closed to traffic, so Gene got out to walk. The place was crowded with hucksters, whores, zombies, and hundreds of partygoers. There were bars on every block. Tattoo parlors and adult bookstores dotted the square where neon signs lit everything up. Crowds of people would congregate outside the seedy dens. The smell of pot punctuated the air. Fights were common, and yelling and laughter were everywhere. Head shops added to the gaudiness, and in the center of it all was Shorty’s; the town casino.