Dave Zeltserman - The Caretaker of Lorne Field

“What if the truth is that there are creatures growing in that field? What then?”

“It’s not the truth, Jack. If you really think that, then it’s nothing more than a psychotic delusion on your part.”

“What if it ain’t? What if everything I’ve been saying is the truth?”

Wolcott took a step back, his hand resting on his service revolver. “A lot of what-ifs. What if Santa Claus were real?”

“If he was, the world wouldn’t come to an end ’cause of it.”

The sound of tires on the dirt road out front stopped them. A car door opened and shut, followed by Hank Thompson’s voice bellowing about what an outrage this was.

“We’re back here, Hank,” Wolcott called out.

Hank Thompson was seething as he joined them. He pointed a long quivering finger at the sheriff. “You had no right doing this,” he accused, his voice loud and booming.

“Calm down, Hank. I had every right. Besides, I was only following the directives of the town council.”

“To sneak into my client’s house and dump all of his belongings out in the street?”

“They were put out on his front yard.”

“You know damn well what I meant. And don’t you dare smirk at me!”

Wolcott held out a hand to stop the attorney.

“Calm down,” he ordered. “I wasn’t smirking at you. And as I was telling your client, a notice was sent over a week ago. There’s nothing I can do if he chose to ignore it.”

Hank’s eyes slid momentarily towards Durkin, then back on Wolcott with renewed intensity. “I’ll calm down when I damn well want to. What if it was raining?”

“It’s not.”

“But if it was you would’ve still dumped everything he owned on the front yard?”

“Look, Hank-”

“This was wrong. Legally and morally you had an obligation to make sure my client was aware of the seizure notice and eviction plans.”

“Which is exactly what I did!”

“By serendipitously placing a notice in the mail so it can be lost and never delivered?”

“By hand delivering it myself. I put it in your client’s mailbox a week ago!”

“You had to sneak here and hide it in his mailbox? You didn’t have the common decency to deliver it by hand?”

Wolcott shook his head. “I did what I was required to.”

“Hank,” Jack said, interrupting his attorney in the middle of shaking his finger again. “I found my wallet packed away in one of the boxes. It was empty. The two hundred dollars you gave me was taken from it.”

The attorney shot a withering look at Wolcott.

“Hank, you know as well as I do that I only supervise packing up the house. Besides, it’s your client’s responsibility to pay attention to the seizure notice and make sure the house is vacated. If he fails to do so, then any lost property is his fault.”

“I demand that you investigate this!”

“Come on, Hank-”

“You failed to properly notify my client, and assuming you didn’t take the money yourself, two hundred dollars was stolen out from under your nose-”

“Be careful what you’re saying, Hank.”

“Not only that,” Durkin interjected, his voice not much more than a croak, “they packed up the food from the refrigerator and left it out in the sun. Half of it’s spoiled.”

“Alright, alright,” Wolcott said, flashing Durkin a look before staring angrily at the older attorney. “I’ll look into this. But you know, Hank, your client broke a window and trespassed into the house. I could arrest him right now.”

“He was retrieving personal property that you didn’t bother to pack up.”

“I made sure that nothing was left behind!”

“He had several items of great sentimental value that were hidden in the basement. If you’d like, I’m sure Jack will show you where they were.”

Wolcott looked slowly from Hank to Jack Durkin. “No, that won’t be necessary,” he said. “It doesn’t matter. Your client criminally trespassed, regardless of what might’ve been left in the house.” He removed a pair of handcuffs from his belt and stepped forward. “I am placing him under arrest. You can accompany us down to the station house if you’d like.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Hank Thompson said, his voice shaking with indignation. “If you do this I will sue you for abuse of power. Trust me, Sheriff, making your life hell will be my life’s work. Maybe at the end of the day, you’ll also get to find out what it’s like to have your home seized.”

Wolcott hesitated, then reluctantly slipped the handcuffs back on his belt. “I want your client off this property now,” he said. “And all his junk too. Anything still here by tomorrow morning will be carted off to the town dump.”

Hank sniffed dismissively. “Jack will be given a reasonable amount of time to remove his property. If you touch any of it he will sue you. Make no mistake about that, Dan. Now why don’t you get the hell away from here and let me talk to my client in private.”

Wolcott nodded. “Just make sure your client doesn’t enter the house again.”

“What about the garage?” Durkin asked.

“What?”

“My pa built that garage.”

Wolcott stared at Durkin as if he sprouted horns.

“You’ll have to bring that up with the town council,” he said, his voice strained. “Maybe they’ll let you move it to somewhere else. That’s up to them. But I’m coming back here at midnight and if you’re camped out anywhere on this property, I’m arresting you.”

“Dan, let me ask you something,” Hank said, his tone softer and more congenial. “You used to be a good kid, and were for the most part a nice guy as sheriff. When did you become such an asshole?”

Wolcott flinched as if he’d been slapped. “I’m only doing my job, Hank.”

“A little too zealously, if you ask me. What do you have against Jack?”

“Other than cutting off his son’s thumb? How about the way he’s treated his wife.” Wolcott pushed his hand over his scalp. “Mrs. Durkin looks twenty years older than a woman her age has any right to look. And now I see her walking around town with a cast on her hand. How’d that happen, Hank? I’ll give your client until six tomorrow night to remove his property. Just make sure he does.”

Wolcott nodded dully at them as he walked away. Hank Thompson stood stone-faced watching him. After the sheriff was out of sight, he sighed and turned to Durkin.

“Why the hell is Dan so fixated with Lydia?” he asked.

“She used to be babysit him.”

“It looks like he’s still carrying an adolescent crush on your wife. If I remember right, Lydia used to be quite pretty when she was younger. Jack, you didn’t ever abuse her, did you?” Hank asked, his eyebrows arching slightly.

“Never once laid a hand on her. And as far as yelling goes, she always gave worse than she got.”

Hank chuckled sympathetically. “Pretty much how I’d imagine it with her. I don’t want to rub salt in the wound, Jack, but I doubt our good sheriff would be so gung-ho right now carrying out this eviction if Lydia hadn’t walked out on you. Any chance of you two reconciling?”

Durkin frowned as he considered it. He stumbled, and when he tried to regain his footing, ended up putting weight on his injured ankle. Wincing, he sat down quickly.

“Are you okay, Jack?”

“I hurt my ankle coming out of the window. I hope it ain’t broke.”

“Jesus.”

“I think I’ll be okay. I just need to sit here for now. About what you asked, unless Lester changes his story she ain’t moving back with me.”

Hank lowered himself to the ground and joined Durkin.

“What a mess,” he said.

“Yep.”

“It explains why Child Services has been putting me off. Must be someone on the town council having them do that. They probably didn’t want to risk Lester recanting his statement until after your eviction. Well, Jack, I’m just going to have to push harder for that deposition.”