Ray Garton: Trailer Park Noir

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.

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 kitchen 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 .”