Criminal Zoo

by Sean McDaniel

  “Was. Is. All the same.” I quickly changed the subject. “I need the car to pick up some more apps.”

  “Oh, bullshit. Don’t give me that nonsense,” she responded, shaking her head. “For all the ones you’ve supposedly filled out, you sure as hell aren’t getting any phone calls.”

  I looked at her, hurt in my eyes. “I just thought I could spend a few extra minutes with you on the way to work. I haven’t seen you much the last few days. Plus, I thought it would be nice if I picked you up in the morning. You could tell me about your night, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, right. Just don’t be late,” she answered.

  “I won’t, honey.”

  I went home and watched TV for a couple of hours. When the clock in the living room struck nine, I figured it was as good a time as any to pay the sheriff and his family a visit. My suitcase packed, I climbed into the car and drove to the man’s house, my headlights boring a tunnel through the darkness. I didn’t really have a plan, but I knew that whatever happened, my time in Clemensville had come to an end. Everything was probably going to work out just fine, though, seeing as how I was well on my way to becoming a member of the God race.

  I parked in front of the Murphy residence and steeled my nerves. After a moment, I climbed from the car and stared at the house. I remembered something a buddy of mine, Paul, once said. “You know, Sam, if someone wanted to fuck with you, I mean really fuck with you, there’s not a damn thing you could do about it.”

  I guess he wasn’t actually that good of a buddy. I met him back in the Texas Jack’s days, and saw him around once in a while. Come to think about it, he was always fucking with me.

  It was time for me to test Paul’s theory on the Murphy family.

  I stood on the curb in front of the sheriff’s house for a moment—looked at my watch—and then made an important decision. It was late, but not too late. I would simply walk up to the front door and knock. The sheriff would assume that if someone wanted to rob his home or hurt his family, that person certainly wouldn’t park right in front of the house, stand on the front porch, and alert the family to his presence by knocking. I pulled out my Uncle Henry from the front pocket of my khaki shorts, snapped open the blade, and carefully inserted it into my back pocket—handle exposed. Then I knocked on Sheriff Murphy’s door.

  A few seconds later, the door partially opened, its movement halted by a thick gold chain. At first, I wanted to drive the heel of my hand into the door, splintering the chain and the lock from the doorframe like I had seen done in the movies. But what if I wasn’t strong enough to break through and all I did was hurt my hand or my wrist? That certainly would’ve given the sheriff reason to question my visit. Not to mention being really embarrassing.

  The sheriff peeked around the door, his eyes registering surprise. Then they turned mean. “Sam, what in the hell are you doing here?” He wore a pair of sleep pants and a T-shirt. A black handgun hung at his side, gripped in his right hand.

  The gun gave me momentary pause, but it was too late to turn around. “I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day. I have some information about Jenny that might help you out.”

  Sheriff Murphy’s eyes narrowed. “What do you know?”

  “Can I come in?” I asked.

  The sheriff stared at me suspiciously.

  “I’m unarmed and you are a veteran police officer. I don’t really think I present much of a threat. Do you?” Blind him with his own ego.

  He thought about that a moment and then said, “You know what? You’re absolutely right. You don’t present a damn bit of threat to me.” He closed the door. I heard the chain lock slide from its track. The door opened and the sheriff stood, framed by its archway. He didn’t raise the handgun, but he made no show of putting it away. “So now you have information about Jenny, huh?”

  “Yeah, I think I do.”

  “Okay, what it is?”

  “Can I come in? It’s kind of cool out tonight.”

  He gave me a hard stare and then brought the gun level to my forehead. “Sam, do you realize that right now I can legally shoot you as an intruder, for no reason at all?”

  “Yeah.” I swallowed hard.

  “Do you also realize I think you’re a sick bastard and would have no qualms whatsoever about pulling the trigger?”

  Only one way out of this. Forward. “Do you want the information or not?”

  “Yeah, but I just want you to realize that any stupid stunt will get you killed. Do you understand?”

  “Yeah, I got it.” Stay calm.

  “Okay, come on in.” The sheriff backed away from the door, giving me room to enter but never taking his eyes off me.

  I stepped through the doorway, exhaled, and forced myself to relax. I occupied my mind momentarily with the beauty of his home. Hardwood floors, fancy light fixtures, paintings on the wall, and it was big—really big! I think I could’ve fit most of my house in his living room.

  “Who’s here, Daddy?”

  A little girl walked into the room. I was instantly overcome by her youthful beauty. She wore a pink nightgown and matching pink slippers. She had long blond hair, the prettiest blue eyes in the world, and skin that looked every bit as smooth as my mom’s. Maybe she was four.

  Sheriff Murphy turned his head. “Honey, get back to bed.”

  With the sheriff focused on his daughter, I snatched the Uncle Henry from my pocket, stepped into him, and plunged the blade into the side of his neck. The knife drove in all the way to the handle.

  The sheriff screamed and dropped his gun. He whirled around, but not before I yanked the knife free. I stabbed him in the chest as he lunged at me. He landed on his knees with a loud thud, his hands flying to the knife. I pulled the Uncle Henry out of him before he could get a hold of it. That’s when his little girl found her lungs. She pierced the air with a shrill scream. I moved toward her and the sheriff grabbed my leg with one hand. With his other, he reached for his gun. I kicked the sheriff in the face with everything I had. His hand fell from my leg and he tumbled backward.

  Mrs. Murphy ran into the room, her light blue nightgown flowing and her face frozen in terror. She looked at me, turned her eyes to the floor—to her husband—and screamed.

  Too much screaming!

  I grabbed the gun from the floor and spun toward the shrieking lady. She jumped in front of the little girl and put her hands up defensively.

  “Please don’t hurt us,” she pleaded, tears flowing down her cheeks.

  I had no way of seeing the blow. The sheriff’s fist caught me on the side of the head and knocked me to the floor. I hit hard, the gun flying from my grip. Sheriff Murphy dove for it. But I was already on the ground. I grabbed the gun, rolled to my back, and pulled the trigger. A small hole opened in the upper left side of the sheriff’s forehead. He flew backward. For a moment, he sat there staring at me as if he wasn’t completely convinced this whole thing was happening. Blood bubbled from the new wound in his head. He wore such a confused look, it was almost funny. Okay it wasn’t almost funny. It was funny. Then he toppled over.

  The woman screamed again.

  “Enough with the screaming!” I turned toward her and fired; her entire nose collapsed inward. The woman dropped to the floor, revealing the frightened little girl standing behind her. The child’s mouth opened. I was sure more damned screaming was coming. I ran to her, threw my hand over her mouth. “No more screaming!”

  She stared at me with eyes as big as golf balls, not making a sound. The screams in the house, not to mention the gunshots, had no doubt alerted the neighborhood. I stuck the gun in the waistband of my pants, hoisted the kid into the air, and headed for the front door. The little brat bit me before I took two steps. I jerked my hand away and struck her with an open hand. At least I didn’t have calluses like my dad.

  “Don’t do that again!” I covered he
r mouth, this time hard enough that she couldn’t bite me.

  I stepped over Sheriff Murphy’s body and was amazed at the amount of blood that had already pooled beneath his head. But then again, I’d heard head wounds tend to bleed a lot. The sheriff’s eyes were still open.

  I moved quickly to the door, carried his daughter down the driveway to the car, and placed her in the backseat. That’s when I heard the sirens. They were faint, but getting louder.

  I had driven a little more than two blocks when a patrol cruiser flew past me. I was doing the posted twenty-five miles an hour, looking straight ahead, as if I knew nothing of what had just transpired behind me. I continued to the nearest gas station.

  I pulled up to the pumps, climbed from the car, and locked the doors. I watched the girl through the car window as I filled the car with gas. She lay curled up motionless on the backseat. I topped off the car’s tank and headed into the store for a carton of chocolate milk, a box of Pop Tarts—strawberry, my favorite—a box of NoDoz. The clean-cut young man working the cash register smiled. That was before he found out I had no money and no means of paying for my gas. I pulled the gun from my pants and shot him where I thought his heart probably was. His smile disappeared as he fell over backward.

  The Gods spoke to me again. Good job, They said inside my head. They wanted the kid dead. Man, I was surrounded by sinners.

  It was time to leave Clemensville forever. But first, I had a quick job to do. Couldn’t very well haul a four-year-old kid around with me. Although she was pretty damn cute.

  My Little Angel

  I never looked back as I drove away. The stinking little town of Clemensville would be nothing more than a bad memory.

  I wish I could’ve kept the girl. Psalms 127:3: “Children are a gift from the Lord; they are a reward from Him.” She could have been my reward. A witness to my transformation. A spirit proclaiming my greatness. But in the end, I couldn’t realistically travel while taking care of a child.

  I pulled over on a desolate stretch of road, climbed into the backseat, and gently caressed her hair. She cried in my arms. I comforted her as best I could. But time ran out and I had to get moving.

  “You truly are a gift from God,” I told her. I smiled. I wanted her to understand I knew the truth of her existence. I ran the back of my hand ever so gently over her cheek. So soft. So pure. Surely straight from Heaven. “My little angel,” I said, pulling out my Uncle Henry.

  Tears escaped her terrified eyes, ran down her cheeks.

  “Don’t be scared, honey. A new life awaits you.”

  The Way Everything Works

  After ridding myself of the girl, I drove the hour and a half to my sister’s place in Monahans. How she could live in that crappy little town, I never understood. But I had nowhere else to go. Plus, I really needed to get cleaned up.

  “Jesus, Samuel, it’s two in the morning.” Sheila stood in the doorway, rubbing her eyes. She wore a cotton T-shirt and a pair of pink boxer briefs. Her hair—sometimes blonde, other times brown, once even red; tonight back to brown—shot in all directions like Medusa’s snakes, angry at being awakened.

  “Hi, Sis. Glad to see you, too.”

  She must have finally gotten the sleep rubbed from her eyes, because a look of bewilderment flashed across her face. “Holy shit, Samuel, is that blood?”

  “I guess it is.”

  “What the hell happened?”

  We stood on the front porch of her trailer, the exposed light bulb shining down on me. The unit sat on a corner lot in a trailer park on the south side of town. A streetlamp fastened to a telephone pole illuminated much of the property.

  “Can I come in? I need a place to stay for the night. I think I might’ve gotten myself into some trouble.” Killing the gas station attendant was a bad decision. They would have me on camera. Bad decisions end in bad consequences.

  “Some trouble? What trouble? What happened? Why are you covered in blood? Where’s Carla? Is she all right?”

  “Sheila, please.” I held up my hand. “You’ll get all your answers, but first I really need to get cleaned up. You don’t happen to have any clothes here that’d fit me, do you?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  The look in her eyes told me she was afraid of me. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Samuel, I don’t think—”

  “I said, ‘why are you looking at me like that?’”

  “Oh, I don’t know…maybe because you’re standing on my doorstep in the middle of the night covered in blood!”

  “Hey, I know showing up here like this is a bit of a shock, but I can explain. I have some things, very important things, I need to tell you. But first, I’ve got to get out of these clothes.” I pushed past her and entered the trailer. “You’ll understand everything soon, okay?”

  She followed me in; I pulled the door closed behind her and pushed in the lock on the doorknob. “Just relax on the couch for a minute. I’ll explain everything, okay?” I headed for the bathroom and closed the door.

  I pulled off my shirt and bent over the sink to splash cold water over my face and onto my hair, then went to work with a white washcloth hanging on a towel rod. Sheila would be mad about the washcloth, but she’d get over it. I turned the cold water to hot and washed my face, chest, arms, and stomach. The warm water felt good. I was about to slide out of my jeans when I thought I heard Sheila talking in the living room.

  “Hey, who you talking to?” I asked, pushing the bathroom door open.

  She flinched and hit a button on her cell phone. “Huh?”

  “Sheila, who’d you just call?” My heart beat faster.

  She stared blankly at me.

  “Oh man, Sheila, please tell me you didn’t just do something stupid. You didn’t, right?” I moved toward her. “Who did you call?” Stay calm, I told myself. My sister wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. I put my arm around her; she trembled. “Come sit with me.”

  I walked her to the couch and sat her down. Relax. Be calm. Talk to her. I sat next to her.

  “I told you I would give you all the answers you wanted. Now, if you’ve called someone you shouldn’t have, I won’t be able to tell you the things I need to tell you.”

  “You’re scaring me.”

  I pulled her close. “Hey, I love you. Don’t be scared. You’re my sis, remember? My own flesh and blood.”

  She pushed me away. “Why are you all bloody? Did you do something to Carla?”

  “No, unfortunately she’s fine,” I said. “Actually, better than fine. But this isn’t about her. There’s something I need to tell you. Something really amazing has happened, is still happening, in my life. Something very, very important.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “First, tell me who you called.”

  “No one. I was about to call a friend, but I changed my mind.”

  “I thought I heard you talking. You wouldn’t be lying to me, would you?”

  “No. I promise.”

  “Good.” I exhaled in relief. “I’ve come to awareness.”

  “Awareness? Awareness of what?”

  “Actually, I’m surprised it’s taken me this long to get it, seeing as how I’ve studied the scriptures all my life. And I’m surprised more people don’t get it.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I know; that’s the problem. We don’t pay close enough attention. We’re all too absorbed in the chaos of our everyday lives to really understand the way everything works.”

  “Samuel, it’s late. Maybe you should—”

  “It says it in the Book of Genesis. It was right there in black and white, right in front of my nose the whole time.”

  “What was?”

  “Our image. Make man like Us.” Why was my sister looking at me so strangely? “Don
’t you get it? God.… But not just the one, I’m talking about all of Them.”

  “All of them? All of who?”

  “Gods, Sheila. Gods.”

  “Jesus, Samuel, you’re not making any sense whatsoever.”

  “Don’t you get it? I’m talking about the realization, the understanding, that we all can become Gods.”

  She slowly shook her head from side to side. “Samuel, I really think—”

  I pressed my finger to her lips. “It’s already started.”

  I had hoped that she, being my sister, would understand better than anyone what I was trying to tell her, what I was revealing. Apparently she didn’t. The strange look—perhaps confusion, dismay, doubt—returned to her face. She tried to stand up. I grabbed her wrist and pulled her back down.

  “Let me go! I don’t know what kind of trouble you’ve gotten yourself into, and I’m sorry if you have, but I want you to leave, now!”

  “Come on, Sheila, it’s me, Samuel. Your baby brother. You can’t kick me out.”

  She looked at me like she didn’t know me, as if all our years of growing up together had suddenly evaporated.

  “Why are you acting like this? I came here to tell you—” The crunch of gravel outside and the sound of a car motor stopped me midsentence. “Oh, no. Tell me you didn’t call someone over.”

  She stared at me.

  “Jesus, Sheila, who’d you call?” Shit! I didn’t want this to go bad.

  “Chad.”

  “Who the hell’s Chad?”

  “He’s my friend. I told you to leave. Samuel, I gave you a chance.” Tears welled in her eyes.

  “Oh God, Sheila. Oh my fucking God.” Disappointment cut through me.

  “I’m sorry.” Her eyes filled and tears ran down her cheeks. “You scared me. I didn’t know what else to do. If you haven’t done anything wrong, I’ll just tell him I was worried about you, that’s all.”

  “How could you do this? I’m your own brother, for Christ’s sake.” I jumped from the couch, placed my hand on the bulge created by the Uncle Henry in my pocket, and headed for the window. I pulled the curtains aside and my heart missed a beat. I watched as a police officer climbed from his cruiser. “A cop? Chad’s a Goddamned cop?”