Growth

by Jeff Jacobson

  After ten or fifteen seconds the reverend couldn’t take not hearing the sound of his own voice anymore and started in about the eternal God and Father so Sheriff Hoyt tuned him out and scanned the faces of the men in the church instead. Cochran sat up front, in the pew behind Bob Morton. Every so often, he would lean forward and give Bob’s shoulder a squeeze.

  Sheriff Hoyt didn’t trust the man. He was a lawyer, for one thing, which was more than enough, but there was something else, something hidden. Sheriff Hoyt had interrogated enough suspects to know when something else was going on behind their eyes. Cochran had a whole lot of something else going on in his head, that much was clear.

  Eventually, the reverend turned the pulpit over to the mayor, who seized the opportunity to give his own speech, get his face in front of the cameras. As he was winding down, other men saw their own opportunity appear. They started lining up under the sun-dappled stained-glass windows in the east wall of the church.

  Everybody used the pulpit as a platform, starting out talking about how great Bob Jr. was, and then they’d pitch their particular skill or cause. A high school buddy said, “I remember goofing off in class with him. Seemed like a good guy. Happy to see him get so far. We all go our different directions, I guess. Bob Jr. went his way. I went mine. Helping my dad out at the barbershop these days. Happy to see any of you fellas in there if you want to talk.”

  Somebody else wrestled the mike away. “Thanks very much. As you can see, Bob Jr. had nothing but friends. And friends, let me tell you, whenever Bob Jr. was in town, he made sure to eat one hell of a dinner at my steakhouse. You come on by, tell that pretty little gal up front you’re a friend of me and Bob Jr.’s, you get ten percent off your total bill.”

  And on and on.

  Eventually, Cochran took the mike. If anything, the line of men waiting to speak had gotten even longer. “I’m sure Bob and Belinda appreciate all these fine sentiments, and they know how much their son was loved by this community.”

  That was his cue. Sheriff Hoyt stood, put his hat back on, and left the church as the reverend reclaimed his pulpit and started another prayer. Sheriff Hoyt propped the doors open and cleared a way down the crowded steps. He went out to the sedan and stood by the back door, waiting for Bob and Belinda to appear at the church doors. Everybody out on the street with a camera got ready.

  When the Mortons did appear, it wasn’t quite the impression Cochran was striving for. Sheriff Hoyt figured Cochran would want Bob Jr.’s parents stoic and dignified in the face of tragedy. Instead, they weaved and lurched down the steps, and Sheriff Hoyt thought it was almost embarrassing. Bob Sr. damn near had to carry his wife down the stone steps. Bob himself looked . . . bad. He kept a handkerchief up to his face and kept wiping at the corners of his mouth. He looked like he should be home in bed; he looked truly sick and moved like he’d been kicked in the nuts a few times. He had no business being out in public.

  Maybe that wasn’t fair. Sheriff Hoyt had never lost a son. He didn’t even have a family, so he had no clear idea how it would feel. He looked at the concrete, a little ashamed. The man had just lost his son. Bob was having a hard enough time holding up his wife, who was clearly here under the influence of a bottle of wine and three or four Xanax. A little compassion was probably called for in this situation.

  Sheriff Hoyt opened the back door of the sedan and waited patiently.

  The radio on his shoulder erupted in a shrill squawk. “Attention, all units. Attention, all units. Multiple reports of shots fired, Pleasant Prairie Trailer Haven. Repeat, multiple reports of gunfire. Please respond.”

  Kevin crawled through the tall weeds on his hands and knees until he saw Jerm’s trailer. He could occasionally catch the faint squealing of a mindless, excitable studio audience for some daytime talk show coming from a TV inside, but he couldn’t see anything moving, either inside or out. It looked like sheets or something had been hung over the windows.

  He’d gotten up early, surprising the hell out of his mom, and played with Puffing Bill in the backyard for a while. Before he went outside, he had secretly swallowed another two ibuprofens. Any more, and Elliot would have been severely disappointed in him. Out in the backyard, part of him was worried about Mrs. Kobritz; she’d always been like a grandmother to him, but he was always thrilled to see her pit bull. Making the dog happy was almost enough to smooth away the churning in his guts. Pretty soon, it was time to gather his backpack and pretend to ride off to school. If he left any later, his mom would insist on giving him a ride.

  Kevin had no intention of getting close to school this morning.

  He’d ridden through town toward school, though, just in case his mom decided to follow him or something. He didn’t think that would happen; he knew she had to help out with some big funeral or something in town. She’d said there would be a lot of news reporters around, so maybe they’d watch the news later tonight, see if she was on TV.

  He hid out under the bleachers that overlooked the high school baseball field, watching the shadow of the old water tower crawl across the infield. It was quiet out there, and it gave him a chance to sort out his thoughts. He’d tried thinking things through last night, but the fears had crowded out everything else, making it impossible to think clearly, until he finally passed out from exhaustion. Now it was possible to lay everything out.

  Kevin didn’t think Jerm would take the gun to school. Jerm had to consider the possibility that Kevin had told his mom, and she would be waiting for him at school. If Jerm didn’t have the gun on him, he would allow himself to be searched, then he could deny everything. At least, that’s what Kevin would do.

  He realized he had no idea what Jerm would actually do.

  Jerm might be stupid enough to take the gun to school, just to show it off.

  Of course, there was always the possibility he might bring the gun just to shoot Kevin. But Kevin didn’t think that would happen. If Jerm had wanted, he could have shot Kevin back in the town dump, then claimed it was self-defense. No, Jerm was dumber than a bag of hammers when it came to most stuff related to school, but he was awfully cunning when it came to slipping out of trouble.

  Kevin also knew that Jerm couldn’t afford to miss many classes of summer school. Jerm sure as hell didn’t want to get held back another year. That would mean he would be taken out of the regular school system and forced instead to take classes in the special education building out near the school district offices, where he would be sitting alongside the developmentally disabled students. Kevin figured Jerm had too much of a sense of pride to let that happen.

  So that meant that Jerm would likely hide the gun while he was in school, then retrieve it later. And the most obvious choice was somewhere safe, somewhere close to home.

  When the shadow of the water tower had reached the pitcher’s mound, Kevin hopped on his bike and pedaled out to the southern edge of town. Along the way, the houses went from colorful two-story Victorian ladies down to cheap ranch-style homes decaying behind dead lawns.

  Jerm lived with his mother and older brother in the trailer park. The place was full of empty double-wides, high weeds, and garbage cans that always seemed full. The owner had worked at the big tractor factory in Peoria until he was laid off or fired, nobody knew exactly which. Now he sat out on his deck that overlooked the algae-choked pond at the front of the property, drinking beer and fishing. Fishing, in this case, consisted of watching a faded red bobber float listlessly in the green water all day and listening to the Cards games on the radio.

  Kevin knew that Jerm lived here because he had once ridden along after his mom had picked him up from school. The owner had been trying to deliver an eviction notice, but Jerm’s brother had threatened the man. Sandy had gone over to smooth things out, to try and work out a deal. She got the owner to give the family another month to pull together enough money, but it had never sat well with Jerm. He saw Chief Chisel as the one who wanted to evict the family. It didn’t matter that Sandy had been trying to
help the family out; Jerm was convinced that Sandy was responsible. Kevin had been left waiting in the front seat of the cruiser, and been in plain view when Jerm came storming out of the trailer. From then on, Kevin had been marked.

  Kevin walked his bike along the fence line, ducking out of the owner’s line of sight. He left his bike behind when he got close to Jerm’s trailer and waited for any movement. There was still a chance that Jerm hadn’t gone to school; he may not have been able to resist the temptation to stay home and play with his new toy.

  After watching the trailer for a while, Kevin was satisfied that Jerm probably wasn’t home. He ran across the little blacktop road and flattened himself next to the front steps. He waited a few seconds, hoping his heart would stop hammering in his chest just a little, then climbed the warped wooden steps, keeping his knees flexed and bent.

  He saw that the front door was open, with only the screen door shut. The screen was full of rips that had been repaired at some point with gray duct tape. Now, the duct tape was curling up off the mesh from the summer heat, leaving gaps big enough that Kevin could stick his fist through. It didn’t look like it did a very good job of keeping the mosquitoes out.

  The breathless audience inside erupted in orgasmic applause yet again.

  Kevin slowly twisted the screen-door handle, cranking the lever down. It clicked, and he eased it open, dreading squeaks and squeals. It swung open fairly silently, and he stuck his head inside the stifling heat of the trailer. It took his eyes a moment to adjust.

  The noise from the TV came from off to the right, the front of the trailer. The kitchen was directly ahead of him, which meant the bedrooms waited to the left. He could only make out a few dark blobs from the living room. A couch or something was between him and the TV; he could only see the flickering blue light sizzle around the lumps of furniture.

  Kevin stepped slowly inside, gently guiding the screen door shut behind him. He straightened, squinted at the TV. He still couldn’t tell if anyone was up front or not. Part of the furniture grunted at something witty that the host had said, and Kevin realized that there was a very large woman sprawled on the couch. It was clear she was focused on the TV, and did not realize some ten-year-old kid had just stepped into her trailer.

  Kevin felt his mouth go dry. He crouched, and moved in a kind of duckwalk back to the bedrooms. The first doorway on the left was the bathroom, and smelled worse than any Porta-Potty he’d ever used. He figured that the doorway at the end of the hall led to the mother’s bedroom, and so that meant that the room off to the right was probably Jerm and his brother’s.

  He was right. Beer advertisements featuring bikini-clad women and Playboy centerfolds had been stapled to the fake-wood laminate walls. The single window had been covered with an old black sheet, anchored to the top of the window with thumbtacks. It kept the room in nearly total darkness. As his eyes adjusted, Kevin saw that the two beds were simply a couple of mattresses thrown into opposite corners. The brothers apparently shared a single dresser, built out of particleboard, but most of the laundry was scattered throughout the room. Kevin wasn’t sure if he was more scared of running into Jerm, his brother, or the mother, but he still crawled into the room and started feeling around for the handgun.

  Ten minutes later, he was convinced that Jerm had not hidden the gun in his room, and he really wanted to wash his hands. Kevin was disappointed, but not surprised. He didn’t think Jerm would hide the revolver someplace where his brother might find it. Still, he had to try. He eased back into the hall.

  The talk show had been replaced by some Hollywood gossip show. The dark shape in the flickering shadows of the TV moved. A thick, sleepy voice said, “Who’s that?”

  Kevin froze, blood coagulating into ice.

  “Who is that?” the voice asked again.

  “Just uh, looking for Jerm,” he croaked, staring at the stained carpet.

  “He ain’t here. He’s at school.” A spark from a lighter. “You’ll find him there.”

  Kevin smelled sweet and sour smoke, like burning rotten fruit. He said, “Okay.”

  The shape held her breath. Exhaled. “Be a sugar on the way out and make sure you close that screen door. Bangs when the wind blows if you don’t click it just right. Drives me fucking nuts.”

  “Okay, sure, no problem,” Kevin said, already through the doorway. He shut the door with a solid click, pushed against it to confirm the door handle had engaged the doorframe. He started down the steps. He had no idea where he was headed next. It didn’t matter. He was too relieved to care.

  He’d figure it out on his bike, once he was long gone.

  A pair of hands so white they may have been wearing bleached latex gloves lunged out of the darkness under the trailer and yanked him off his feet. He tried to scrabble backward, but one of the hands closed over his shoe. Jerm’s gray face swam into view. “What . . . Why are you here?” His voice sounded garbled, like his tongue was swollen.

  “I . . . I . . .” Kevin couldn’t form words, let alone explain himself.

  Jerm didn’t act like he heard anything anyway. His head lolled around on a loose neck, like it was too heavy to hold upright and still. Something was different about his face, but he kept it pulled back from the light, so Kevin couldn’t get a good look. He kept talking, mostly to himself. “Thought I shot you at school already. Wanted everybody to see it.”

  Kevin tried to pull his foot back, but the movement caught Jerm’s attention. “Fuck are you doing here?” Jerm nearly shouted, yanking him deeper under the trailer. He leaned over Kevin, and in the dim light, Kevin could see that Jerm’s skin had broken out even worse than usual. Much worse. Sticky-looking blackheads had exploded across his face, lining every crease and fold in the puffy skin. Jerm curled his lips back, revealing yellow teeth and a black tongue. His nostrils were plugged completely with solid-looking gray snot. And his eyes. Something was wrong with his eyes.

  They bulged unnaturally, as though reacting to some uncomfortable inner pressure. Tiny gray buds were growing out of his eye sockets, near the inner corners, pushing the eyeballs out of the way. Kevin got the distinct impression that Jerm was looking in two different directions at once, and it was confusing the hell out of him.

  “Thought I shot you already,” Jerm repeated. He reached down and when he pulled his hand back up into the faint light, Kevin could see Jerm was now holding his mom’s Smith & Wesson. Jerm clicked the hammer back and it sounded so loud in the cramped, dusty shadows under the trailer that Kevin was worried his bladder might give out.

  Kevin flopped flat on his back and kicked out frantically with his free foot, driving his heel into Jerm’s chin and nose. The sole of his sneaker smashed against the blackheads, popping the ripe mounds, releasing a stinking black paste. Jerm grunted and let go of his other foot.

  Kevin twisted and scrabbled toward the sunlight. He had nearly reached the edge of the shadows when he felt, rather than heard, some explosion behind him, and at the same time, a sledgehammer came down on the back of his head and darkness overtook him and he knew no more.

  CHAPTER 15

  The Fitzgimmons were expecting Sandy. The front gate was wide open. She’d been toying with the idea of running along on a code 10-39, which meant full lights and siren, letting everybody know they needed to get the hell out of the way. Then, when she got closer, she could switch to a 10-40, running silent without lights and the siren. Sandy changed her mind because with the Fitzgimmons, sneaking in unannounced might be a good way to get shot. It was better to give them as much advance warning as possible.

  Still, they wouldn’t have been able to get the gate open in time if they were just now hearing the siren. They knew she was coming and were ready. She slowed to a more respectable speed and turned off the siren.

  When she got closer she saw that the tow truck from the garage where Axel worked was hooked up to a white pickup. The back end was off the ground, and Sandy could see large ruts in the driveway where the pickup had tried to
drive away. The pickup had a USDA logo on the door; the back was enclosed with multipurpose storage compartments, almost like something the vet drove around to ranches when he was checking on large animals. The driver was still inside the cab, waving frantically at her.

  Edgar sat on the hood of the pickup; Axel was behind the wheel of the tow truck. Purcell was standing off in the shade of the oak trees. Sandy shut off the engine and climbed out, trying not to make it obvious she was looking around for Charlie. Purcell’s truck was parked over by the barn, so Charlie had to be around somewhere.

  Purcell stepped out of the shade and took his time meandering across the driveway.

  Sandy stepped over to the pickup, said to the man inside, “Sir, would you mind stepping out of the vehicle?”

  “You tell these psychos to unhook me and I’ll think about it.” He looked to be in his fifties, with a neatly trimmed gray beard. His eyes had narrowed and he jabbed his finger in random directions to punctuate his words. “Fact is, I’ll feel a whole lot better when you arrest all of them. You get them facedown on the ground in handcuffs and then I’ll get out.”

  Sandy turned to Purcell, who had gotten close enough to speak with. “Purcell. I’d been hoping I wouldn’t have to be back here in a professional capacity so soon.”

  “Chief.” Purcell gave her a nod in greeting.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “What we have here, I suppose you could say, is a failure of communication. Charlie caught this man trespassing, so we decided to hang onto him until the proper authorities showed up.”

  “I see. Did you call us?”

  “Nah. Didn’t see any point. Fella in there told us he was calling the cops a buncha times, so I figured that’d kill two birds, one stone and all that. And I knew you folks were busy with the funeral.”

  Sandy resisted the urge to tell him it wasn’t a funeral.

  The guy from the USDA shouted through the windshield, “What are you waiting for? Arrest them!”