grandma

by William Gray

  “Alright, enough. I’m going in. Let me know if anyone’s coming,” Caleb said.

  “I’ll just shut the door and leave you in there. We drove my car, anyway,” Maria said.

  “You’re such a…”

  “Such a what, Caleb? Huh? I’m waiting,” Maria said. She held a hand on her jutted-out hip and scowled.

  “A bitch, that’s what,” Caleb said.

  “Ha. I didn’t think you had it in you. Good luck,” Maria said.

  I don’t understand her, Caleb thought as he dove head-first into the fetid garbage pile. As he thrashed around, breathing heavily, he felt his chest tighten as panic began to set in. Something viscous but vaguely liquid-y had gotten in his eyes. He wiped at his face as he fought to gain some semblance of balance. A bug scampered across his other arm as he held it against the metal, trying to stabilize himself.

  Shaking with revulsion and fear, Caleb forced himself to calm down. He knew he needed to do what he was doing. He didn’t have to like it, however. But if he remained a nervous wreck, he wouldn’t be able to effectively do the job. And that meant failing.

  Failing was not an option. Not with a promise to his grandma on the line.

  Calming down just enough to begin rifling through the bags on top, Caleb frowned as he encountered bag after bag full of old, discarded food. The only thing disrupting the monotonous supply of viands was the occasional sack of dirty diapers and used catheter tubes. “Gah,” he said, pausing to cover his mouth and nose with his shirt. “This sucks,” he said. But he pressed on, anyway, reminding himself of his promise to his grandma.

  However, it didn’t take long for him to finally hit paydirt. “Hey, I found something,” Caleb called out, grabbing a handful of shredded paper from the top of the relevant bag. He smiled triumphantly, happy despite the circumstances. After getting through a layer of tiny shards of paper, Caleb discovered a plethora of fully intact documents. Must have put the shredded stuff on top for cover, he thought.

  “Well, toss it over and let’s go. It’s starting to get cold,” Maria said.

  Grunting, Caleb once again held out a hand to stabilize him as he struggled with the trash bag. Nearly breaking it on the metal edge, he hefted the heavy sack up and over his head, pushing it over the edge. He smiled with satisfaction as Maria squealed after the container hit the ground with a thud. Then he quickly scrambled forward, pulling himself to the surface. Lifting one leg, he awkwardly climbed up onto the thin metal lip of the garbage can, then hopped down.

  Suddenly, Caleb’s heart sank as he heard a door slam nearby. “Shit,” he said. “We need to go.”

  Turning, Caleb began running. But the muck on his shoes caused him to slip and stumble forward. He barely caught himself as he collided with the asphalt, jutting his hands out only just in time. However, bits of glass on the ground bit into the tender flesh of his palms. And a searing pain rushed through his wrist as he struggled to get up.

  “Hey, stop! This is private property,” a stern male voice intoned.

  Fighting through the pain, Caleb forced himself to get up. Kicking his shoes off quickly, he scurried down the alley, catching up with Maria just as she rounded the corner, the bag of trash slung over her shoulder trailing bits of paper as she ran.

  “Get ready to jump in,” Maria said, dropping the black plastic trashbag unceremoniously in front of her beat-up little old Ford. She hastily removed her keys from her back pocket and unlocked the doors, then immediately started the engine.

  Having little choice but to react quickly, Caleb grabbed the bag of purloined trash and flung it in the backseat. As he slammed the door and opened his own, he only had just enough time to hop in before Maria was off, her tires screeching as she sped off down the street.

  “Buckle up, buttercup,” Maria said, taking a violent right turn at the nearest intersection, ignoring a red light in the process.

  “Shit, Maria. What if there are traffic cams?” Caleb said, looking down as he fought with his buckle.

  “You think I pay for license plates, playa? Come on, now. I’m a broke reporter. I clip plates every few weeks at the outlet mall or whatever,” Maria said, staring straight ahead as she focused on the road.

  Blinking, Caleb looked out the window, idly thinking that traffic seemed awfully slow, even for a night in Portland. Shaking his head, he smiled. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” he asked. Caleb turned to look at the woman to try and gauge her reaction in the low light.

  “Heck yeah, I’m serious. I don’t have a license, either. Straight rebel,” she said.

  “How… how did you even get hired?” Caleb asked, laughing.

  “I’ve got the right credentials. And I’m desperate enough to work for the right price,” Maria said, shrugging.

  “Aren’t you ever worried you’ll get arrested, though?” Caleb asked, only just starting to realize they’d just gotten away with what were probably at least three felonies.

  “Not really. But if the state wants to pay to give me a vacation, you think I’ll be mad? I’ll spend all that extra time reading. I never have time to read anymore. Hell, homie, this is the funnest thing I’ve done in months,” Maria said.

  “We… just broke into a dumpster,” Caleb said. “Can you believe that?” he asked. Beaming, he suddenly turned and slammed a fist into the dashboard. “Wooooo,” he screamed.

  “Calm your tits, dude. We literally just dug through the trash. It’s not a big deal,” Maria said, smiling nonetheless.

  “Oh, my god, that was EXCITING. That was CRAZY. How did we do it? Oh, shit. I love it,” Caleb said. “We got away with it. We frickin’ did it,” he said.

  “Yeah, well, now you’ve got to go take a shower and spend all night going through all that stuff,” Maria said.

  “What do you think is in there? That’s a lot of paperwork,” Caleb said.

  “I don’t know. But I just remembered that you can also find reports of violations on some state website. My abuela was considering a residential care facility for a while. So, we did some preliminary digging, you know?” Maria said.

  “You mean we just went through all that, and I could’ve started with an online search?” Caleb asked, his voice rising.

  “But wasn’t it fun?” Maria asked, turning to look at him, her eyes shining with mischief.

  Slowly, Caleb nodded. He smiled from ear to ear.

  Chapter 10

  “Phone’s ringing,” Monty screamed.

  Groaning, Caleb tossed his jacket* to the floor and hastily walked to the phone. Looking at the digital display, he sighed and shook his head. However, he reluctantly answered. Scowling, he kicked out at Hunter as she circled around his legs. Glaring down at the cat, he waved a hand angrily at her. “Go,” he mouthed.

  “Caleb, are you okay? I just heard some disturbing news,” Mary* said.

  “Now’s not really a good time, gra’ma. Can we talk later?” Caleb asked, anxious to get his grandma off the phone. Bending down, he gingerly sniffed his arm, recoiling at the foul stench that confronted his nostrils. It served as a visceral reminder of what he’d just done. As did the bag of papers resting on the floor near the unlocked door.

  Blinking, Caleb walked with the bulky cordless phone to the door, locking it, wondering how he’d forgotten to do so upon entering his humble residence.

  “Fucking Blazers,” Monty said.

  Shooting the gray-and-green parrot a scathing look, Caleb frowned. “Shut up, bird,” he said. He’d received the answer to his unspoken query.

  “Sweetie, one of the security guards was going OFF about how someone had just broken into the dumpster out back. Said it didn’t look like a homeless person. Said something about the guy seemed familiar. Thankfully the surveillance cameras covering the area were out,” Mary said.

  Caleb gulped. He stood in the middle of his living room* for several seconds, silently dwelling on the facts exposed. He had little doubt that his grandma had, indeed, secu
red some sort of inside scoop somehow. He trusted her information. But he didn’t like any of it. Finally, he sighed. “Why are you thankful the cameras were out, Gra’ma? Wouldn’t you want to know if there were miscreants in the area?” he asked, trying his best to be surreptitious.

  “Don’t try to fool your old granny. I may be over a hundred years old, Caleb. But I am NOT senile,” Mary said.

  “Gra’ma, please. Do we really need to talk about this over the phone?” Caleb asked, rubbing his temple with one hand as he began pacing.

  “I don’t know if you’re going to want to come visit any time soon, Caleb. Might be good to keep the heat off. Isn’t that what you reporters say? ‘Keep the heat off?’” she asked, her tone suddenly becoming conspiratorial.

  Caleb smiled, despite the anxiety raging inside of him. He forced himself to take a deep breath before moving on, however. He needed to prevent himself from unraveling or saying anything too stupid, particularly over a line that could be- and likely was- recorded. “You’re right, Gra’ma. With your medical condition and everything, it might be good if I stayed away for a bit. Maybe two weeks? Get with the doctor and find out, okay? Sorry about the stress with the dumpster diver. But I’d be willing to bet it was just some homeless person. Or else just someone searching for scraps to eat. A lot of working poor in the area, Gra’ma.”

  “Oh, Caleb,” Mary said, sighing. After a pause, she decided to play along. “I will ask the doctor, sweetie. But I think two weeks is more than enough. And you’re probably right. But we don’t get many drifters this far out. It’s still kind of scary, to think of unauthorized people trespassing around all of us old folk,” she said. Then, without further ado, she hung up.

  Staring at the trash bag on the floor, Caleb grimaced. He wondered if it would prove emblematic of the hassles to come. I hope not, he thought. Then, shrugging, he strode forward and bent down, dragging the hefty sack to the couch.

  Plopping down, he sat, smiling as he watched Hunter sniff around the bag. The cat got on its hind legs and poked its head into the sack, then immediately reared back, twitching her whiskers as she retreated to the corner.

  “Stinks, doesn’t it?” Caleb asked. And then, as if inspired by the spoken thought, he decided to go take a shower. “Thanks for the reminder, kid. I don’t want to rub that into all the furniture. Hey, maybe I should just go ahead and throw these clothes away, huh? I can probably afford at least one new outfit, anyway, right? Money’s not in the bank yet. But can they rescind a Pulitzer?” he wondered.

  Shaking his head, he retreated into the small bathroom, where he turned on the shower. “I want that thing scalding,” he said. Caleb stripped. As he did so, he paused to inspect his reflection in the mirror. Staring into his own green* eyes, he smiled slightly. He liked what he saw. And that was a welcome change from years past, when he’d often avoided any sort of examination of himself. In fact, there’d been a time when he’d gone to great lengths to resist any hint of introspection.

  Realizing that he’d gone from a drunk convicted felon to courageous crusader, with one of the most esteemed prizes in his profession now under his belt, Caleb couldn’t help but stand a bit taller. His grin widened.

  Then Hunter trotted in and darted between his legs. The cat began kicking litter around as it looked for just the right place to drop a deuce. Then it carefully covered its stinky new clump of doo and retreated from the scene, leaving Caleb to deal with the unpleasant odor that lingered.

  Chuckling, Caleb took the dose of humility in stride and quickly flipped on the ceiling fan before stepping into the shower. “Ooooh, perfect,” he said. Then, having a thought, Caleb stepped out, dripping wet, and went the few steps to the door. Slamming it shut to prevent any of his coterie from intruding on his moment of solitude, he returned to the harsh, stinging spray.

  Beginning to hum the tune to one of his new favorite songs, Twenty-first Century Schizoid Man, Caleb allowed his mind to wander. He relished the rare moment of peace and quiet, dragging it out as long as he could. When he finished with Ozzy, he moved on to, of all things, a song from the South Park movie.

  Only when the water grew tepid and his skin had sufficiently pruned did he shut off the shower and decide to emerge. Rubbing his red skin dry with a terry cloth towel, Caleb concentrated about the task ahead. Hopefully Hunter hasn’t dragged papers all over the house by now, he thought. He tried to figure out just what he hoped to find in the pile of documents. “Maybe I’ll get lucky. It’d be nice if the first one on top just happened to have the entire file on Sue. Maybe a string of complaints or investigations or whatever. Sheesh,” he said, tapping his forehead with his palm. “I really need to start looking into this. I don’t really know anything about elder abuse. Or nursing homes,” he said.

  Sighing, it fully hit him that he’d once again decided to take on a daunting story. The sheer enormity and complexity of everything he needed to do could quickly overwhelm him if he didn’t organize things effectively. And, to that end, as soon as Caleb exited the bathroom, he went straight for his digital recorder and note pad. He did that before even getting dressed.

  “Pen. Pen. Where’s the frickin’ pen when I need it?” he asked, throwing his hands up in exasperation. Then, hastily pulling open the drawer to his small white wooden bedside table, he rifled through the contents until he triumphantly plucked out a writing utensil. Pressing it to the yellow pad of paper, he scribbled a few words just to make sure it worked before retreating back into the living room.

  Sitting forward, his waist wrapped in a towel, his hair still dripping wet, Caleb began writing. He didn’t allow anything to intrude on his stream of consciousness. Instead, he allowed his ideas to flor freely. An important part of his process was tapping into the sediment of his subconscious, dredging up the valuable resources hidden in the sludge. He couldn’t reach that point, however, if he slowed down or devoted deliberate thought processes to get in the way.

  Drawing circles and lines, he wrote furiously. Some words strung themselves together into coherent sentences. Others presented the merest fragments of ideas. But Caleb pressed on, nonetheless, emboldened by the feeling that he was on the hunt once again.

  There was something inherently exciting about the process. It provided an adrenaline rush to Caleb. He loved reaching the final denouement, the point when all his hard work manifested itself in a single published work. But his biggest satisfaction came from those moments where he furiously scribbled notes naked save a towel, his brain working on hyperdrive.

  After several minutes of allowing his mind to wander on the page, he finally dropped the pen. Sitting back, Caleb stared at the page, trying to find patterns or anything else that might stick out. Frowning pensively, he touched a hand to his chin as he scanned the paper. Slowly, a general theme emerged. Noticing that he’d written Sue’s name several times, connecting it on many occasions to that of Laurie, Caleb decided that the victim needed to take center stage. Not just in his investigation but also in the story that was still resting in the warmth and comfort of its cocoon. Sue sat at the heart of the entire thing.

  “Grandma would want that. To make Sue the protagonist,” Caleb said, sniffling.

  His instincts told him that the strong emotional component that could only come from humanizing the person who’d had so much pain and suffering ruthlessly inflicted upon them would be the thing that set his piece apart. It’d provide mass appeal. This wasn’t going to be some staid government document, where the allegations were laid out in short, concise, objective sentences on the few lines provided on the pre-printed form. No, Caleb thought, I need people to care.

  And to get them to care, he needed to make Sue seem like she could be anyone’s grandma.

  Caleb needed to make people believe Sue could be anyone.

  Quickly, he plucked up the pen and jotted a line on a separate sheet of paper. Sue symbolizes the plight of the marginalized. She’s the erosion of society and American values.

&
nbsp; Smiling, he nodded to himself as he returned to his process. He continued looking at his mad scribblings, trying to divine any additional clues or insights. However, when no new inspiration struck, he nonetheless felt satisfied with the progress he’d been able to make. Caleb had the first faint inkling of a plan. But, more importantly, he’d finally come around to visualizing the story as something real, something he could actually do.

  Getting up, he went to the kitchen and grabbed a yerba matte from the fridge and immediately retreated to his desk*, where he quickly typed out a preliminary plan of attack. Obviously, his first step would be to wade through the pile of garbage, trying to scrounge up any clues that might be hidden inside. Estimating that that unpleasant task would likely take the rest of the night/morning, Caleb paused, trying to figure out what should come second. Deciding that he should start finding Sue’s daughter and other relations, he added that as the next up on his to-do list. Caleb figured that was worth devoting an entire day to. Then the third priority would be spending the entire next day online, working to ferret out any adverse reports or other information on the specific nursing home and nurse in question.

  Taking a sip of his cold beverage, Caleb paused. Staring at the harsh light cast off from the screen, he tried to determine his appetite for risk. Frowning, he drummed the fingers of one hand on the surface of the desk. It took him several minutes to formally resolve within himself to commit one hundred percent to hacking the nursing home’s systems. Of course, he did NOT write that down.

  The last thing he needed was any additional proof of such illicit activities.

  Finally, Caleb went back and added a step before finding Sue’s family. Realizing that he needed to review general nursing procedures as well as elder abuse procedures, particular, Caleb elected to add that to the second day of his investigation. He figured it wouldn’t take more than a few hours to get up to speed, at least to the extent he needed to be in order to move forward. He wanted to have a cursory grasp of things like who would most likely be directly responsible for implementing a patient’s care, who that person answered to, what administrators role was, what records were kept, how, and for who long. And, of course, how the money flowed.