Ray Garton - Trailer Park Noir

But he’d just started. Actually, he hadn’t started yet. Riverside Mobile Home Park was his first shot at this. His plan was to move east in his tour of trailer parks, but he’d decided to start right there at home. That way, if there were any problems, or if it somehow just didn’t fly, he’d know without having traveled across the country – he’d know right away. He always knew right away if something was going to work or not, he felt it in his gut. Riverside would be his testing ground to see if it worked. For all he knew, there were no attractive women in trailer parks and they all really did look like Jerry Springer’s guests.

Heather was not a trailer park girl. At the age of twenty, she would be featured on the Young and Lovely site. He had not yet had a chance to meet any of his fellow residents at Riverside. But he would.

With some scotch in her, Heather loosened up, relaxed. She posed with ease on the bed, and she looked great.

“Now, take off your shirt,” Regent said.

“My shirt?” she said. “Couldn’t I take off my skirt?”

“We’ll get to your skirt, but I’d like to start with your top.”

“But I… I don’t… my breasts… “

”Honey, your breasts are just fine. And believe me, the guys who visit my site will want to see them. Trust me. They’ll want to see them, and they’ll love them. Really. Whatever you may think of your breasts, these guys are going to adore them.”

She laughed a little and said, “Really?”

“Yes, really. And where’d you get the idea there’s something wrong with your breasts, anyway?”

“Nate says they’re too small. He wants me to get implants.”

“Well, if your boyfriend hadn’t already given me enough reason to think he’s an asshole, that would clinch it. You hear me? Your boyfriend’s an asshole.”

She laughed again. “Thanks for saying that, but… well, I love him.”

“He doesn’t deserve you.”

“That’s sweet of you to say, but… like I said… “

”You love him, yeah. Well, that sucks, it truly does. Whattaya say you take that top off and we get some great pictures of your gorgeous breasts.”

She took the shirt off and tossed it aside.

“Yeah, screw your boyfriend!” he said as he took pictures.

Regent took a few topless pictures, then had her take her skirt off and got some panty shots.

“Now, what-say you take off those panties?” he said.

She hesitated for a long time, then removed her panties. She knelt on the bed facing him.

“What do you want me to do now?”

Regent said, “Get on your hands and knees with your back to me and let’s get some shots of that incredible ass.”

Heather turned and got on hands and knees. Then the sobs started again, quietly though. She tried to fight them back, but could not. When her shoulders quaked, Regent said, “What’s wrong? Are you crying?”

She said nothing, just kept crying.

“Oh, well, that’s okay. I’ll just get some more pictures of your ass while you get it out of your system.”

She tried to pull herself together. She reached up and wiped her eyes. She rolled over and said, “Is this gonna show?”

“Yeah, it looks like you’ve been crying. You want to go wash your face?”

“Yeah, I’ll be right back.”

“Second door on your left.”

While she was in the bathroom, Regent heard the front door open. Garner had arrived.

“Now we can get down to the fun stuff,” he said to himself with a smile.

The night had been a battle so far, a battle not yet won. The Xanax had made Reznick groggy, and he stayed in his recliner and passed in and out of sleep. Each time he woke up, he could smell the perfume. It wasn’t there, of course. It was just the memory of smelling Anna Dunfy’s perfume. It lingered in his mind like a ghost in a castle tower. Each time he woke, there it was, that fresh, cool scent that plunged daggers into his eyes, all the way into his brain, deep into his brain, where the blades triggered just the right synapses and he could hear Victoria’s voice, see her, feel her touch.

It was some kind of barbaric torture, but it was not physical. Tormenting memories sent jolts of electricity down to his stomach and made him feel nauseated. As Letterman started his monologue, Reznick hurried into the bathroom, knelt before the toilet, and vomited his guts up. The NyQuil stung his throat and mouth as it came back up. Afterward, he brushed his teeth, rinsed his mouth out, then drank some more NyQuil, straight out of the bottle. He finished it off and dropped the empty bottle into the waste can.

When he left the bathroom, he swayed dizzily. His chest ached from all the retching. He staggered back to the living room, where Conan was running in circles at the front door.

“You need to go out, kiddo?” Reznick said hoarsely. He opened the screen door and let Conan out.

Reznick went down the steps barefoot, walked out from under the awning and carport, and looked up at the trees overhead. Even at that hour, the night was still warm – the pavement was toasty beneath his bare feet.

He had a little over two hours before his battle would end. At two o’clock, the bars would close and the stores would stop selling liquor, and he’d have nowhere to go to get it. If he could hang on that long. When he wasn’t smelling Victoria’s perfume, he was hearing ice jingle in a glass. All in his head, of course.

As he stood on the edge of the park’s road outside his trailer, a car pulled into the entrance and came his way. All he could see at first were the headlights. Then, as it passed, he got a look at it. A black car, maybe a Crown Victoria, he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t tell how many people were in it. It went around the loop behind the Snodgrass house and stopped at unit seventeen across the road. The engine was killed and the lights went out. Whoever was inside the car just sat there and did nothing.

Conan came over and licked Reznick’s foot, startling him. He picked the little dog up and went back inside.

By midnight, Andy had not returned to unit seventeen.

Sherry paced the living room, but did not get too close to the body under the blanket on the floor. “I don’t understand why he’s not back,” she said. “And I don’t understand why his phone isn’t on. Andy always has his phone on, it’s how he works, it’s his life .”

“Maybe he doesn’t have it with him,” Philpott said. He was slumped at one end of the couch.

“Are you kidding? He practically sleeps with that phone. Seriously, he sleeps with it on his night stand, right by his head.”

“You seem pretty uptight. You wanna feel better?” He took her kit from the end table.

“I don’t know. I was thinking maybe I should stay straight, y’know? Until Andy gets back?”

“Nah, you don’t wanna stay straight.”

She laughed. “Okay.” Laughed again. “Boy, I guess I caved on that pretty easily, huh?”

Philpott went to work.

Lissa was gone. She’d called a friend and asked him to come pick her up. To make it easier for him to find her, she’d gone down to the entrance and stood waiting for him there. She’d been gone for about half an hour.

Philpott hurt her with the needle and she winced.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he said.

When he was done, he set the kit aside. Sherry started to slump back on the couch, but he stopped her and slid behind her, then let her lean back on him. Philpott put his hands on her shoulders and began to massage them.

“You look like you could use a back rub,” he said.

“Mmm, that feels good. Do that a little harder.” Her speech slurred a little, her eyes closed.