by Ray Garton
Without hesitation, she did as she was told.
* * * *
When Sherry and Lissa returned to the trailer, Sherry was glad to find that Andy had set up the fans that blew the terrible smell out the open windows. But even that didn’t help much. The smell was awful.
“How can you stand it?” Lissa said.
“I can’t. That’s why I try to get out of the trailer when he does it. You wanna beer?”
“Yeah, but I don’t think I’ll stay long.”
As Sherry got a beer, Andy came into the kitchen.
“Like the movie?” he said.
“The movie sucked,” Sherry said. “But it was a Tom Cruise movie, and I don’t like Tom Cruise, so I should’ve known better.”
“I thought it was okay,” Lissa said.
“Blech,” Sherry said before taking a couple gulps of beer.
“God, it’s windy out,” Lissa said.
“And it’s such a hot wind,” Sherry said. “Like it’s comin’ right outta hell.”
“That’s good,” Andy said. “It’ll blow the smell of this lab around, maybe. Make it harder to pinpoint. Oh, by the way, while you were gone, two guys dressed in black came lookin’ for ya.”
Sherry gasped and put down her beer.
“Yeah, said they were from the Secret Service.”
She stared at him a moment, then her eyes narrowed. “Andy, you cruel shit. Don’t do that. It scares me.”
Andy laughed. “You’re so easy to scare,” he said before turning around and leaving the kitchen, laughing.
* * * *
The wind knocked over a few of the big green garbage cans, the ones that were empty. Dry, brittle branches, especially from oak trees, were broken off by the powerful wind and dropped on top of trailers or in the middle of the road that looped through the trailer park.
The speckling of light that came through the swaying trees was in constant movement as it was gradually extinguished by the setting of the sun.
Sunset did not bring a respite from the heat.
Trailers shuddered and shook in the wind.
Inside the trailers, people were on edge.
In unit thirteen, Roderick Cramer and his wife Chrissy argued loudly as their baby wailed in its crib.
In unit two, Donna Huber slapped her eight-year-old several times, her hand flying back and forth, because she caught her getting into her makeup.
In the Snodgrass house, Hank shouted at Muriel, “Shut up woman, my God, can’t you just shut the fuck up for five Goddamned minutes? My ears are ringin’ from all your fuckin’ yappin’! And you can’t stay on one topic for more than thirty seconds. Just give it a fuckin’ rest for God’s sake!”
The wind clawed at tempers and made emotions bubble to the surface like blood from a cut.
The darker it got outside, the darker it got inside.
* * * *
Anna danced to an old Rod Stewart song with a strong beat. She was topless, and she danced to emphasize her breasts. She worked the pole for a while, then moved slowly across the stage, peeling off pieces of her costume. She made her way down the runway, where there were already a lot of dollar bills, and some fives.
The whole time, there was a man seated at the runway bar, on the left, who seemed to be enjoying her performance more than the others. He was beefy and balding and he had a beard and mustache. He wore a blue shirt open over a white T-shirt. He kept whooping and hollering as she danced, raucously encouraging her to continue disrobing.
She’d been there for a couple hours. The hardest thing had been to keep smiling while she was dancing. That was important, smiling. But it was hard to smile when your mind was full of blood and gore and death.
Anna moved out on the runway, down to her G-string and heels.
The beard-and-mustache whooped and slammed his hand down on the stage, slapping a ten-dollar bill down.
Anna danced his way and shook the merchandise just for him.
“Yeah!” he shouted. “Fuckin’ beautiful!”
He reached out and wrapped his big meaty hand around her calf and moved it up and down.
Her smile cracked. She tried to pull her leg away from him.
He closed his hand on it and pulled.
Anna started to fall backward and her arms flew out at her sides. She tried to compensate by throwing herself forward, but she overcompensated.
Anna fell face-first off the runway.
* * * *
Reznick took Kendra on the floor and they both let go and got a little wild as the two little dogs watched them curiously a few feet away. Afterward, they lay side by side on the carpet, both naked, staring up at the ceiling. Reznick got up and got the ashtray from the table, returned to his spot on the floor and lit a cigarette.
“When does your mommy usually get home?” he asked.
“After two.”
“Oh, yeah. Of course.”
“Huh?” She turned to him. “Why’d you say ‘of course?’”
“Oh, well, uh… “ He shrugged. “I just figured, because… dancers work late.”
“Oh. Yeah.” She rolled over and put an arm and a leg across him, smiling.
Their bodies glimmered with sweat.
“I like doing this with you,” Kendra whispered.
“Yeah, it’s not bad, I’ll tell ya that.”
“Did you really want me the first time you saw me?”
“The very first time. I undressed you with my eyes. I held your breasts with my imagination.”
Kendra giggled. “And Mommy was lying right there.” She giggled again.
“Yep. Right there.”
Reznick got up and found his glass empty. He made himself another drink and took a few swallows. He sat on the couch, still naked.
On hands and knees, Kendra crawled over to him, knelt before him, and rested her arms over his thighs, smiling up at him.
“You sure like that vodka, don’tcha?” she said.
“Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah. This vodka and me, we’re old friends. We’ve been apart for a while, but we’re together again. Together again.” He took another drink, moved it around in his mouth a little, then swallowed, let it glide down his throat, burning as it splashed in his gut.
It kept away the bad thoughts. It kept the backs of his eyelids black, the way they should be.
Kendra lazily reached out and stroked him.
“Mmm,” he said, “that’s nice.”
“I’m glad,” she said.
The trailer trembled from the force of the wind.
* * * *
Two of the other girls and Maxie, the bouncer, rushed to Anna’s side. Maxie, a bald mountain of a man, bodily ejected the unruly customer from the club while the other two girls helped Anna up.
“How bad you hurt?” Wanda said.
“My back,” Anna said, wincing. “My back hurts.”
“Oh, shit,” Desiree said. “I hope you don’t got a back injury. Back injuries suck. C’mon, let’s get you back to the dressing room.”
Paul, the manager, followed them back there, eager to see if Anna was okay.
Her back radiated pain from one spot next her left shoulder blade, and she hurt her right knee. The knee would probably result in nothing more than a bruise, but she was a little more worried about her back.
“Look, Kitty,” Paul said, “I want you to go straight home and get off your feet after that nasty fall. You hear me? You need to see a doctor? I’ll pay for the first visit. Okay? Now, I don’t want you to think about involving a lawyer in this, all right, honey?”
“Don’t worry, Paul, I’m not gonna sue you,” she said, wincing at the pain in her back. “It wasn’t your fault, it was that damned drunk out there.”
“Well, he’s gone.”
“I’ll take you up on that offer to go home, though.”
“You go on home and I’ll let you keep all your tips tonight, sound good?”
Anna had to smile. He was nervous – he really was worried that she might sue.
“Sounds good to me,” she said.
In less than ten minutes, Anna was in her car and on the road, headed home.
* * * *
Afterward, Kendra got a washcloth and soaked it with warm water, and returned to Reznick in the living room. She cleaned him up and then kissed him. He smiled as he buried his fingers in her long hair. She went to the bathroom and got rid of the washcloth, then came back and lay down on the couch with her head in his lap.
“Oh!” she said. “Match Game is on again! This is one of my favorite shows. It’s so funny. Charles Nelson Reilly makes me laugh,” she said with a laugh.
“Yeah, that Charles Nelson,” Reznick said. He took another drink of icy vodka. “He’s a riot.”
* * * *
Josh Garner drove into the Riverside Mobile Home Park and stopped at unit five. He got out of his BMW and into the hot wind that blew loudly through the trees overhead. He went around his car to Steven’s porch. He slowed down and frowned, his head down. It appeared something had been spilled all over the concrete, something dark, like motor oil, or chocolate syrup. He couldn’t tell what it was because the porch light wasn’t on, and it was dark.
Garner climbed the steps and knocked on the side of the trailer.
“Steven? It’s Josh.”
No response. He listened for the sound of movement in the trailer, but heard nothing.
Instead of knocking with his knuckles, he pounded with this side of his fist, shaking the whole trailer.
“Steven!”
Nothing.
He pulled open the screen door and tried the doorknob. It was locked. He took his keys from his pocket, found the right key, and slipped it into the doorknob, turned it.
Garner pushed the door open and found the lights on inside. He took one step inside and froze.
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” he said, and it sounded like a genuine plea to the Savior. His voice wavered and he stumbled backward and swept an arm out to catch the edge of the doorframe so he wouldn’t fall out of the door and down the porch steps.
There was blood everywhere. The trailer reeked of it, of soured blood and feces, and the blood was everywhere. On the floor, on the furniture, on the walls. But there was something in the pattern of blood on the floor. A shape on the carpet that was not covered with blood, a kind of smeared shape of a body. He could make out the head and the arms and legs and the torso. But it had been moved and blood had smeared onto the section of clean carpet.
“Oh, God,” Garner whispered.
He found Steven’s phone and called nine-one-one.
“This is nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”
“Uh, I’m at my friend’s house, and I’ve found – uh, his trailer, I’m at his trailer, and I’ve found… well, blood, a lot of blood, and I haven’t been able to reach him all day, and I think he’s been murdered. I mean, if you could see how much blood there is here – I don’t see how he could live.”
“Where are you?”
He gave her the address.
“And you found your friend murdered, you say?”
“No, I think he’s been murdered. All I found was blood.”
“But there’s no body?”
“No.”
“Then there is no emergency.”
“Well, I think it’s an emergency, I mean, this looks like a fucking slaughterhouse in here, it looks like he was butchered! He’s been missing all day, and I came to his trailer to see if anything was wrong, and the living room is covered in blood. And I think there’s blood all over the concrete out front, too. Now if that’s not an emergency – “
”We’ll send a unit out, sir. What’s your name?”
He gave his name.
“And you’re at this address?” She repeated the address.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Someone will be there soon.”
“Thank you.”
Garner sighed as he put the phone back on its base.
He turned to the living room again and put his hands on his hips
“God, Steven. What the hell happened to you?”
* * * *
There was a grey Lexus ahead of Anna as she pulled off Interstate-5 into Anderson. The Lexus turned left onto North Street, just as she did.
Anna had always wondered what it would be like to own a luxury car. The kind of car that practically gave you a foot rub while you drove.
Up ahead, the Lexus stopped at the intersection of North Street and Stingy Lane, then turned right onto Stingy, just as Anna did. Anna was even more surprised when the Lexus turned left on Park Way. There were no Lexus owners on Park Way.
She was downright startled when the Lexus pulled into the Riverside Mobile Home Park.
It drove slowly ahead of her, so slowly that she assumed its driver was uncertain of where he was. He must be in the wrong place, she decided.
He passed up unit eight, where she pulled in. He kept going along the narrow road, on around the loop.
Anna killed the engine and opened the door. Pain pierced her back as she got out, and she groaned. She reached in the back seat and got her costume, closed the door. She noticed the Lexus stop outside unit seventeen across the road.
The hot wind slapped her garment bag around as she climbed the steps. She opened the screen door, then the front door, and went inside.
Twenty-Six
They were putting on their clothes when she came in. They’d heard her drive up. Kendra, of course, was quickly dressing as fast as she could, but Reznick was taking his time. He had nothing to hide. He was in no hurry. He didn’t care.
She stood just inside the door, Anna did, her garment bag slung over her shoulder, her mouth open to its limit. She dropped her purse on the floor, then the garment bag. Her arms at her sides, her hands clenched into fists.
“Mommy, I’m sorry, really, I’m sorry,” Kendra said, her voice high and quavering.
Anna’s suddenly red cheeks trembled as her eyes bulged.
“Kendra,” Reznick said as he pulled his T-shirt over his head, “why don’t you take Conan and Dexter outside. They haven’t been out in awhile, and they probably need to do some business.”
“But Mommy, I don’t want to – “
”Kendra,” he said again. “Go ahead and take the dogs out. Your mommy and I need to talk.”
Kendra’s head turned back and forth between them, her mouth open. Finally, she called the dogs and slapped her thigh and made kissing noises with her lips, and they followed her out the door.
* * * *
Monty Rudd drove the Lexus around the loop that encircled the barn-red house, then stopped his car in front of trailer number seventeen. He reached into the pocket of his short-sleeve burgundy shirt and unfolded the small piece of paper, switched on the overhead light, and sure enough, it was number seventeen. He put the slip of paper back in his pocket and killed the light, then the engine.
He got out of the car. The hot wind whipped at him and was noisy in the trees overhead making dry, harsh sounds. He wore black gloves and grey pants and black shoes. He was fifty-one, a pudgy man of medium height with a balding head of grey-shot brown hair. He leaned in and took his gun from the passenger seat. A Glock.45 equipped with a silencer. He racked the gun before closing the car door.
Rudd went around the car to the front steps of the trailer.
He could smell the meth lab. He’d been told it was a possibility. It was an unfortunate factor. The smell was foul.
Rudd silently climbed the steps. He opened the screen door, then simply opened the front door. It was unlocked, as they usually were. People were so stupid.
He stepped into the trailer.
Movement to the left.
He saw two young women sitting at a bar just to the left of the door. The one with dark hair had her back to him. The dishwater-blonde faced him. He shot her first. The gun made a thick, muted phut sound. A hole appeared just above her left eye and her brains splattered onto the refrigerator across the ki
tchen behind her. She was knocked over backward and hit the floor with a clatter.
He shot the brunette in the back of the head before she had a chance to turn around – phut! – and black-red matter sprayed over the bar. She fell forward on the bar and looked like she was sleeping.
Rudd took a clean white handkerchief from his back pocket and held it over his nose and mouth.
“What’s going on out there?” called a male voice from down the hall.
Rudd headed down the hall toward the voice, his gun held ready before him.
* * * *
Anna stood there staring at him, eyes wide beneath a frowning brow, head tipped forward. She tucked in her lower lip in and ran the tip of her tongue back and forth over it.
“You look angry, Anna,” Reznick said. “You need to calm down.”
“You… you’re telling me… to calm down?” Her voice was hoarse and unsteady.
“That’s right.” He walked slowly to the kitchen with his glass. The ice had melted in what was left of his vodka and it had become watery. He went to the sink and dumped it, then to the refrigerator, where he opened the freezer. He got more ice, then took out the bottle. He put the glass on the kitchen table. As he poured his drink, he said, “I told you that you owed me, and that I would collect. Well. I’m collecting.”
She released an abrupt laugh as cold as a deadly-sharp icicle. “You’re collecting. You think my daughter, you think my little girl is something you can collect.”
“You’re little girl came to me.” He put the bottle of vodka back in the freezer. He turned around and froze.
“I thought we talked about that,” Anna said. She stood just a couple feet away holding a steak knife with a narrow, serrated blade.
