Of Morality and Sin: Massacre of the Football Team (Virgil McLendon Thrillers Book 7)

by catt dahman

  The second was because he shared his temper and fists much too often, usually slamming Delia into a cabinet or over furniture, cutting her. That's why she needed bandages often, as well as ointment, wraps, and painkillers Ernie bought from his dealer. The broken teeth were something that bandages didn't fix, but Delia shrugged that off, the same as she did the frequent black eyes; she just claimed she was the clumsiest person on earth. One day, she wouldn't have teeth left to break or bones left to mend, she thought.

  She felt too tired, too old, and too set in her ways to toss Ernie out and start again. At least with him, she knew what she had; with another, it was like biting into a piece of chocolate and never knowing what the filling might be. Besides as bad as Ernie could be there were times when he was sweet and he was the brother of a most respected law officer; that gave Delia a little respectability.

  Recently, people asked her how the investigation was going, and they listened closely, even if she were only repeating gossip she had heard. Small towns were not above gossip, and actually thrived on it, but small-town gossip is an interesting thing. It can be full-on lies or a mixture of truth and lies, but it is seldom, if ever, absolute truth, so no matter how often it is shared, no matter how often it changes, it never reveals the underside of the deepest secrets.

  As Delia served dinner (it was her day off), she chewed her bottom lip, hoping that this might be a peaceful evening, but it didn't look positive for that. She could feel the bad energy all around. She had fried chicken and gravy, Ernie's favorite, peas, 'taters, and okra, and the table looked good, but her kids from a prior marriage, were sulky and arguing in the other room.

  “Knock it off,” she yelled.

  Her son was in tenth grade and he looked old for his age; all he cared about was girls, sex, sports, sex, and girls. Delia knew he'd been chatting up some girl, although he refused to say which one it was. Delia cared because the slut had obviously given the boy some infection and he was walking around, complaining about his privates and he yelped every time he went to pee. He needed to see the doctor, which would be another bill that would strain her pocketbook. He was just like his father, unable to keep his stuff in his pants.

  Her daughter was another issue. Every day the girl came in with more trinkets that still had price tags in place and were obviously shoplifted. They weren't valuable or interesting; it was as if the girl stole things as a hobby. Delia needed to make the child stop, but telling a twelve year old anything and being heard, was akin to finding hen's teeth.

  The youngest was another burden, and Delia had only recently begun to think Ernie was slipping the seven year old something, a drug or letting her smoke dope. The glazed eyes and sleepiness was concerning.

  Delia was concerned with everything, really, but she hardly knew where to begin. Secrets surrounded her.

  “Why're you day dreamin'?” Ernie demanded. He came in like a storm, his eyes already shining with anger.

  Delia blinked realizing she had wasted several minutes by simply standing and staring at the table. She would like to talk to someone, maybe to Ernie, about her worries, but her words failed her. The problems were with her kids and he had never really taken an interest in them. She opened her mouth, but didn't say anything.

  “My chicken is cold. Ya dumb bitch, ya work at the diner and serve them folks and can't even serve me a hot meal one day week?”

  “Oh.” She stepped back.

  Ernie's face was a mask of instant fury. He hated a cold meal and there she was in her own foolish thoughts, standing over a dinner she had worked hard on and allowed to get cold. What hadn't she called him in to eat? When he back-slapped her across her face, she almost welcomed it as something normal and real that she could actually get her mind around.

  The second punch was to her stomach and the third was sideways but sent her sprawling. Because her nose had started to bleed at once, blood droplets hit the floor before she did. Delia stayed down, as she had learned to, and she looked at the faded linoleum.

  Ernie cursed and stormed out.

  Delia's son frowned and writhed as he sat down, but filled his plate, eating the okra like a pickle. Her daughter, hands and arm twinkling with cheap, new rings and a shiny bracelet, covered her plate in cold gravy and began to eat happily. The youngest sat next to Delia and stared at the drops of blood, sticking out a finger to draw a smiley face on the floor.

  No one knew what went on in Delia's house and she didn't share.

  Down the street, Ernie knocked on a door and bought a little baggie of pot. The man who sold it gave the cash to his son, a boy on the high school football team, and told him to go buy some beer. They grew the cannabis in their big back yard and later, after drinking a few cans of beer, they would go outside and water their new crop.

  The man was the cousin to Lou Yow, who Ernie worked for at the wrecker and car repair service in town.

  Lou Yow did a fine business in town and always had good prices; he was honest and never tried to do extra repairs. Because his ethics were so strong, Yow never lost business to the out of town auto shops. People always said Lou Yow was a straight-shooter, an honest fellow, and a good guy. They didn't know his secrets, either.

  While his cousin sold drugs to Ernie, Lou finished his dinner, complimented his wife's cooking, asked about his daughter, Lisa Marie's school work, expressed concern over the recent murders, and nodded with sympathy and compassion. He hugged his daughter, telling her this was one of the hardest parts of life, losing someone suddenly and violently, but that he was there whenever she needed to talk.

  Later, he would, before going to bed, check on his daughter, plant a soft kiss on her forehead, straighten her covers, and make sure her window was locked. He did that every night, just as he made sure the house was safe, that the lights were all off but for a few nightlights, and that all was sound. A man of routine, just as he brushed his hair and teeth dutifully, each night, after dinner and family obligations, he took a drive.

  He claimed it was how he let digestion take place and that he enjoyed a little time alone, listening to his car radio and sing aloud. He loved Disco. It was an ingrained part of the family's life.

  Several streets over, Lou slowed down at a corner and grinned as his passenger side door opened and the scents of peaches and honeysuckle filled the vehicle. The girl wasn't popular at school like Lisa Marie was, and her name was Judith; she was a year younger and was as far from being like Lou's daughter as anyone could be.

  Judith was not as “cool” but was bubbly, always animated and excited about everything. Cheerful, she was far too positive and lively to ever really realize that the other kids ignored her as if she didn't exist. In fact, if asked, few students would have a mental image of Judith if her name were said, but she neither noticed or cared. High school was a mere stepping stone to going out into a bigger, better world.

  Judith not only had a perfect average in every class, but she was prone to taking on extra assignments and it was her only complaint: that report cards could only show perfection and not over-perfection.

  She was tall and large, not so that she could be a great basketball player, but, if she were honest, she knew she wasn't just plump or chubby; she was fat. She was plain. But Lou Yow smothered her with compliments. He said her ass was soft and Ruebanesque, that her face was like velvet, full and expressive, that her lips were lush and lovely. He said her plain, mousy hair was, in fact, not dull and lifeless but like the soft fur of a rabbit, but longer. The color was, according to him, simple and natural.

  Lou smiled at her, loving the way her robin's egg- blue eyes lit up. Only for a second did he fear she might have lost a few pounds and become less attractive, but no, she was every bit as plump as always. He yanked out a bag of do-nuts he had bought on the way over and when they parked and made love in the back seat, he would taste raspberry filling on her lips.

  They parked at the edge of the woods, near the town dump and theirs was a secret unshared by those who gossiped around town
.

  Two figures walked from the dump and back to a pick-up truck, ignoring the sedan parked close by. They didn't see it. They raised chickens and had a few dozen die; they were at the dump to bury the carcasses. It might be that the birds were random deaths, but every once in a while, the chickens took ill and the boys had the chore of removing the bodies. Because of the questions about the reason for the sudden deaths, the boys never ate at the diner that bought and served their chickens regularly. There was no telling what was wrong with the birds.

  Luckily, Delia Cannon was the one who accepted the delivery of chickens, and who signed off without any interest, and that was for the best. The brothers crowded into the cab of the truck with their sister, Bella, in the center. They all three waved at Ernie as the passed him.

  Ernie wouldn't say he saw them at the dump; it was another item that never made the gossip-circuit.

  Bella worked two jobs. One was in the next town over, on the streets and she was always good for fifty dollars a night since she was a pretty girl with long, black hair and almond shaped, dark eyes. Having graduated high school the year before, she also worked at the five-and-dime and told her brothers about how the store kept being hit by a shop lifter. Just that day, someone nicked a cheap ring and a bracelet and Bella thought it might be Ernie's step daughter who was stealing. She didn't tell the management of her store, and she didn't tell anyone else other than her brothers; it was one of those unremarkable events that ended up as a secret in town.

  She told her brothers that of the money she made that night, she was going to use some to buy a new dress for church. She liked going to church and the ladies there always knew and repeated the juiciest gossip.

  And the church wasn't immune to secrets.

  In the church, that night, the priest was berating the coroner's wife for her wandering eye. Father Thomas told her it was a sin to look at other men, to cause her husband jealousy and worry, and to have lustful thoughts about those other men. The coroner had been over-worked lately with the rash of murders and on edge, and the last thing he needed was to have his beloved wife flirting with other men and distracting him from his job.

  She cried and apologized, saying she didn't mean to flirt and bat her eyes, but she was a pretty woman and men flirted with her, too. Father Thomas told her she was wrong to have pride in her looks and that she was on a road to serious marital problems. He reminded the couple about lusting after others and prideful feelings. His solution was not easy, but it might prevent further issues, would absolve the sins, and would give both parties the punishment they so craved.

  “Wash your face of those cosmetics. You're not a prostitute, so stop painting yourself. Now, Dr. Roth, we are told that a husband must be the moral leader and you are not following God's word. You are not leading your good wife and helping her live sin free. Spare the rod does not just apply to children. Take her and spank her thoroughly until you feel she is properly chastised, as you would your child.”

  The doctor's wife shivered a little but listened with shining eyes. She nodded and reached for her husbands hand, “I trust my husband. I trust you, Father. I will promise to live a better life. Thy will shall be done.”

  The coroner sighed with relief. “It's a heavy burden you give me, but it's from the good Lord himself. Thank you and blessings, Father.”

  When they left, Father Thomas felt a blush heat his face. He wished he could have watched the doctor pull her pants down and spank her until his hand was red and her bottom was rosy and glowing. When they returned, and he thought they might, he would suggest over-seeing the punishment, but it would be difficult to contain his excitement.

  He really liked to watch. That was something he never shared and no one knew about.

  Across town, Jean, wiped away tears as she thought about Father Thomas and his kind words about the death of her beloved Jerry. The priest was so comforting and what Jean loved about him most was how he really understood women and their changing roles. He was always so supportive of the females in his flock going out and being leaders and bread-winners. Jean appreciated his modern views.

  She remembered what Father had told her and prayed silently as she sat down with her family for their evening meal. She had no appetite, but ate anyway, aware that her parents watched her closely, unsure what to say to relieve her grief. She still didn't know how to feel or act, after the loss of her boyfriend.

  She thanked her mother for dinner and excused herself and went upstairs, just as she always did, and turned on the shower. The water made a lot of noise and Jean used the covering sounds to lean over the toilet and vomit. She was so accustomed to this, that she didn't need to ram a finger down her throat, but just threw up on cue. Letting her dinner flow into the bowl; she flushed it away.

  She didn't want her parents to worry, and she did, generally, enjoy the taste of food, but her big fear was gaining weight. She knew a girl at school named Judith, who was a year younger than she was, and who was really a fatty. Judith might have been okay-looking, but the rolls of flab made her grotesque. No way would Jean allow herself to ever be fat.

  But she also knew that another secret was far bigger and it was one that would, indeed, cause her to gain weight.

  After her shower, Jean finished her homework and went to bed. In the next room, her mother was alone and her father was downstairs watching television. Jean wasn't aware but her mother was on the telephone. It was a rushed, clandestine conversation with Principal Hoffman.

  Hoffman frequently grabbed minutes like this to talk to the woman he loved. That she was married caused him great concern; it just wasn't socially acceptable for them to have an affair, but he was in an affair he couldn't bear to leave. Each time he saw Jean in the hallways of the school, he felt a stab of guilt.

  It could have been worse.

  One of his teachers had a terrible secret that only Hoffman knew, but the man was a great teacher and so the secret was kept. John Summers, the science teacher, had two lovers and both were male! Summers was in love with both lovers. Since the murders, John was inconsolable because Wayne had been one of his lovers, and hanging from a noose was a nightmarish death.

  John knew it was wrong to love another male, but Wayne was also a kid, one of his students, and therefore, more taboo; that Wayne was a black boy made the situation beyond taboo. In Hoffman's office, John Summers wept like a child, crying for Wayne. It was a private grief.

  “There there,” Hoffman repeated. He couldn't say much because the affair was wrong, but then, didn't Hoffman understand affairs?

  Summers had a second lover, one that he cried with, as well. Hell, he never said he was a faithful lover. This one was less sympathetic and more about getting over the loss with sweaty, raw, quick sex. As Ernie Cannon lay back, that evening, he felt a rush of anger that John was acting girlish with all the weeping and whining. He almost popped John a hard one across the face, but held back.

  Ernie's night had not been going well.

  In another bedroom, in a house down the street, remembering she had a science test coming up, Sue thought about Mr. Summers, her science teacher and how sad he looked all the time now. They all were sad, but Mr. Summers always had red eyes now.

  Sue sighed. They were studying reproductive systems and she hated it. It made her think back a year ago, when she had an abortion, something she still felt guilty about. No one but her mother knew and it was done in the city, but she always feared that someone would know.

  Jasper had never known.

  His family never liked her particularly; they were a little wealthier and fancy and she was a country girl. They were really judgmental. How would they feel if they knew other secrets. Like that Jasper's little sister, Amy, was experimenting with marijuana and sex, sharing both with Ernie Cannon's stepdaughter in the woods?

  Sue chuckled.

  She had caught them twice. Sue wondered what other secrets people had, because no one knew hers and no one knew some that she knew, so that indicated that there m
ust be tons of things that no one knew or shared.

  In the deepening night, the townspeople finished having sex, smoking dope, drinking, and indulging in various acts and fell into their beds, their bodies exhausted and minds filled with secrets and dreams. In the morning, in the daylight, everything would be clean and bright. Anyone peeking at the town would think they were all wonderful people with nary a worry or hidden agenda, but then, small towns harbor the best hush-hush of all.

  Ernie Cannon came in late and munched a piece of cold chicken from the refrigerator, thinking that it had a slightly off taste. He'd have to ask Delia where she got the yard bird from. After wiping his greasy hands off on a dishcloth, he crept into his stepdaughter's room and set a tiny baggie of pills on her dresser.

  Her eyes watched him.

  “Okay...we're paid up for last time and tomorrow. Cervantes will have the money as always, so pick it up. Don't even think about taking any.”

  “I never do.”

  “Well, just so you don't consider it...keep in mind, I have the pills, thanks to Mr. Butler.” Ernie closed the door and climbed into bed with Delia. It was safer to let the girl pick up the money each week and he was fine with giving her the cheap pills in payment. Butler was more cautious now with the pills since his daughter Jacki's boyfriend, Wayne had been murdered, but the man was also greedy.

  And the girl liked the pills.

  And Ernie liked the cash he had left over after buying the pills.

  Coach Cervantes paid pretty well to keep it a secret that he used his deceased brother's papers to not only have his job, but to live in the country legally. Cervantes was an illegal immigrant, in truth.

  Ernie went to sleep, cocooned in his insular little town, covered snugly by secrets and complex relationships and glad that he lived in a place where people were old-fashioned, unimaginative, and where everyone was a good women, a good man, a good child.

  But was where good kids were being killed.

  Chapter Nine: Questioning the Masses