Monday, June 08, 2009

Story Time

Sigmund Freud once said 'get off my lawn you little fuckers'. I'm guessing he did, psychological genius or not he must have had a lawn and at some stage some kids must have played on it. What that has to do with this is tenuous at best but I just needed someway to start. I've got nothing kids, I'm tapped out, I'm bone dry. If I hadn't spent yesturday afternoon playing 'Conkers Bad Fur Day' I might have had a post prepared for you.

But since I don't, I have to search through the archives and find something interesting enough to slap up to tide you over. Ok so here we go, heres a treat for you, it's long so I won't post anything on thursday, it's the first part to the companion story to this, which isn't quite finished (or spell checked)... neither of them are. But if you want a read enjoy.

Story
The phone rang once, twice, three times, and eventually he got up and answered it.
“This better be important… what a fire, well call the fire brigade…. well what else…. a body, I’ll be right there” He hung up the phone and raced for his pants, this was exactly the reason he hung them on a hanger on his bedroom door, it always paid to be prepared. His keys were already inside the pockets ready, so all he had to do was do up his belt kiss Lola good morning and be off out the door. A few streets away, Deputy Smith relaxed in bed sleeping like a corpse sprawled out across the king size mattress on his mothers lounge room floor. He dreamt of cars and women both fast and both without tops, his automotive lesbian fantasy was broken by some tires screeching and the following bangs at the door. He slowly rose from the mattress composing his mind and other body parts into the right state to greet someone at the door. He wandered down the hall scratching himself wearing nothing but his novelty ‘cop this’ y fronts.

“Who is it” Deputy Smith mumbled.

“It’s the sheriff Smith, get up put your pants on and hurry about it” Answered Sheriff Stan Daley who had just broken his personal best for the distance from his house to the deputy’s. Smith opened the door and stared out at the sheriff, wondering what the hell was going on and why it couldn’t wait until the sun had at least risen.

“What’s going on?” Smith questioned still half asleep.

“There’s been a murder” the sheriff replied with a wry awkward smile on his face.

“Yes!” Smith emphatically responded. Small towns were great but police often found themselves’ investigating stolen pies, or felled cows, so a proper crime was something to get oddly excited about. The sheriff looked Smith up and down stopping on his rather tasteless underpants, he would have made a comment about Smith having some dignity, but Smith probably would have said something like ‘but I don’t have a shovel’. So it was pointless, he merely groaned under his breathe and told the deputy to run and put some pants on. And in a flash he had disappeared down the darkened hallway his half naked body awkwardly swaying from side to side as he dodged the numerous items of star wars memorabilia in the hall way. In seconds he returned, wearing pants, but still no shirt.

“A shirt as well dingus” Sheriff Daley groaned, again as his faithful idiot side kick disappeared into the darkness.
“And shoes… you idiot” He yelled the first part and then mumbled the second to himself, it was still a mystery as to why he had employed Smith, has was about as useful as a wet fish, and about as intelligent, but for some reason he was lucky, unusually so. Maybe that was the reason, but it couldn’t be he hadn’t known about his luck before he hired him. It was too much to worry about now though Stan thought to himself. And again out of the darkness like a shark out of the depths came Smith, a really stupid shark, but still a shark none the less. They hurried out the front door and clambered into the cruiser, it was an older model but still performed well, Smith was in the process of buckling up as the sheriff planted his foot and screeched away from his house, they must have gotten 100 metres up the road and the back wheels were still spinning, Smith smiled to himself, the sheriff loved driving this car, and one day he would get to sit behind the wheel. Quickly they got onto the main strip of Buckwheat the few landmarks of the town whizzed by as the car sped to the fire, Smith could see the entrance to the trailer park coming up on the right, closer and closer, he began to think that they were going to fast to make the corner. Slowly he reached for the handle on the roof of the car with one hand, and got ready to brace himself with his other hand on the dash.

Ever watchful the sheriff had noticed this, he noticed everything, he was a hawk, a scent hound, he, was, everything. He thought of himself as a super cop, the ultimate in crime prevention, and as he was the judge as well, the ultimate in prosecution. It was his town and all that was standing between it and its destruction was sheriff Stan Daley. He gripped the gear stick and pumped the clutch, hitting the brake for a second, the back of the car drifted out slightly as he began turning in. He then dropped the car from 3rd to 2nd, and then gave it some gas, the engine roared and he dropped the clutch, again the wheels span taking the rear end of the car further out, smoke bellowing out from the wheel arches. The car flew sideways around the corner as stable as a train on a track, even when it hit the dirt road of the trailer park it held its integrity. The sheriff slowed to a crawl thinking none of the citizens had heard him driving like a maniac, they all had, but that was no different from any occasion. No one dobbed him in though as he was the sheriff, the judge and the mayor, and he had a temper… quite a temper.

The smell of the burning clutch plate filled the car, so Smith wound the window down and stuck his head out to escape the fumes. He spied that rather fat chick that worked at the drug store standing on her deck as they cruised past. She was nice, she always gave him discounts on drugs, and she’d let him use the toilet once when he was busting to go and the station was locked. That was a few years ago, the great key mystery of June 1999. It was one of the few real crimes that Buckwheat had seen in the past ten years, and even then it was tiny. And Smith suspected he had just lost the keys at his house, but he couldn’t tell the sheriff that, he’d skin him alive for a mistake like that. It was months before the sheriff just gave up and decided to break a window and change the locks. For the three months they searched interviewed and basically made life hard for the towns people, the bar was were the sheriff and his deputies headquarters was relocated, it seemed like a good idea at the time. But as with most good ideas, they usually aren’t taking into account drunken armed men. The sheriff continued to weave the car through the gathering crowd, he swore as he went complaining about all the slack jawed onlookers.

The sheriff thought of himself as a calm man, a safe individual that you could trust. Though he was the only one that did think this, it wasn’t that you couldn’t trust him, it was more that you could only trust him as far as the law was concerned. Everyone in Buckwheat had the overall feeling that he would shoot his own mother if he caught her breaking the law. So people would always be respectful around him, he thought this was good that they were showing him a law man respect. Everyone else just thought he was a sociopath, and it was best not to piss him off at all, in case he flipped his lid. He had been born in raised in Buckwheat, he was in his forties and not displeased about it, though he did find himself getting older each year. Physically that is, not mentally or emotionally, he had always been a mature person even as a child. As soon as he hit speaking age he was always responsible, his mother had loved this about him. A good old southern gal she was, straight from a huge plantation manor. His father who was the sheriff before him, had met her at a barn dance back in the fifties and the two had fallen in love, it was a sweet story of two different people from two different classes falling in love, and then running away together. Albeit in a $80,000 Lincoln town car.

The two ended up in Buckwheat, a long way spiritually at least, from where they had both grown up. He joined the police force and became a deputy, while she joined the Women’s Association, and drank mint tulips until she became an alcoholic. So it was probably for the best that Stan looked after himself as a child. Stan’s father was the deputy for some years before finally he became the sheriff. Stan could remember that day with perfect clarity, it was a Thursday mid summer, and he had just come home from school to find his dad there with a bottle of whiskey and celebratory ham. His mother was in the lounge in a Cain chair unconscious in her usual Jackie ‘O’ attire. The jug of ice cubes, mint leaves and some left over booze slowly melting together sat next to her like it always did. Stan’s father grinned proudly, showing almost all of his teeth

“Stanny boy… guess what happened” he beamed at Stan

“What” the pint sized child replied

“I got promoted today I’m the sheriff now” Stan’s father was still smiling as if he couldn’t stop. Stan looked at him and thought, why are you pleased, its not as if anyone else was going to get the job. It was true, Stan’s dad was the only deputy, so when the current sheriff retired, it was always going to be him. Stan didn’t see why he was celebrating when he’d only gotten the job by default, or the fact the previous sheriff was going on seventy.

“I’m proud of you dad” That was one of the few times Stan ever lied, he thought it best to let his dad dream. It was a harmless dream, from a harmless man. He loved his dad he really did, but Stan couldn’t help but feel he always just had a small view of things, that his father’s world was his job and his family, and that was no way for a man with power to live. It was his mother that had had most influence over him, she was a wasp. Old money and hard to please, very hard to please, unless it was with a fresh jug of booze, and some sort of repressed minority serving it to her. Stan loved his mother as well, she was a product of her time not openly disrespectful or spiteful to anyone, but he always got the feeling when she met people of a different racial background she was a little stand offish. But that day she apparently hadn’t even woken up until after midnight, where she only had some tonic, went to her room and passed out. It was a relationship were the love had disappeared after a few years, his mothers anyway, Stan’s Dad loved that women into his grave, chances are that’s what killed him. From the age of seven Stan could remember they didn’t even sleep in the same room, her choice of course.

The only reason she didn’t divorce him was because she wanted to spite her mother who had never liked Stan because of his class, or lack there of more to her point. So like every stubborn southern belle she stuck it out and just made passes at every single worker and delivery person that showed up at the door. Stan picked up on all of this, he was clever, very clever from the youngest age. His mother though kept him from socialising with most children, so his social skills were left at a disadvantage, sarcasm, tact and other such useful tools for humour and other human interactions he never quite developed. At eighteen he joined the police force and at twenty he forced out his own dad as sheriff. He was so proud of himself that day, he had taken care of one part of his dream, at the same time though he was very disappointed in his father for having lost to a man so much younger in age and experience. His dad on the other hand was enormously pleased, his son, had become a man, a man of importance, he had raised a sheriff, a man of integrity and passion. He felt he could die a very happy man, and a few years later he did, almost out of nowhere, one of the most loved men to ever grace the streets of Buckwheat gone. The whole town turned out to his funeral, openly grieving for a lost friend. It rained that day, almost as if the town itself shed a tear for the loss of the good days under Sheriff Gerald Daley.

But it was quite some time ago, the town had changed dramatically so from that time, not so much geographically or structurally, only the trailer park had gone in. In more of a emotional sense, it was as if the town had gone from being in the fifties and sixties under threat of the cold war but remaining care free and happy, to being a town in modern times under the control of a madmen, of spectacularly mediocre proportions. It was Stan’s turn now to look after Buckwheat, he had a fire to get to and a murder to investigate, finally a chance to show this town who he was and what he could do under pressure. Before him lay the ruins of that Latino guys life, Stan had never been to happy about a foreigner moving into his town, he wasn’t sure why, it was probably just the reminents of his mothers prejudices seeping through. The charcoaled trailer sat ablaze as the entire town rolled in to have a gander. He moved towards the fire and started to usher people away as he went, giving the old familiar ‘move along there’s nothing to see here’. A few did move back though not far, so Stan tried a different tack and just started yelling.

“Get back or I’ll start shooting people” Was the first thing he yelled, and most took notice of it, moving themselves further away. No one was sure if he was serious, you could never tell really. Stan stood for a moment pondering the fire and the crime scene. Why was it still burning, where hell was that idiot with the pump trailer? He scanned the crowd, looking for Thomas Ford the car dealer, and the guy supposedly responsible for the water pump trailer used for extinguishing fires. He wasn’t here, 'where was he' Stan thought to himself. He turned to the crowd the fire at his back, his shadowy silhouette cast over the crowd like a giant spectre.

“Where’s Ford” he yelled, he waited for a reply from the crowd, all he got were shrugs and murmurs of ‘don’t know’. What a bunch of cretins he had to deal with, a town populated by idiots, he felt conflicted by his duty to protect them and his overpowering urge to crack their heads open on the pavement. And the biggest of them all, Deputy Smith, leant against the car perusing the contents of his naval with the barrel of his gun. If he yelled loud enough maybe he’d get lucky and Smith would accidentally shoot himself. No luck.

“Smith, get a barrier up and move these people back, but first find out where Ford is with that dam water pump…” He’d hardly finished that when slowly through the crowd came the luxury car of Ford, pulling the trailer pump. Relaxed he got out and sidled up to the sheriff. He was wearing his usual leisure suit, attire completely inappropriate for putting out a fire, one spark anywhere near him and he’d be a melted pile of nylon and polyester.

“Sheriff, haha quite a blaze you got here, who ‘erh’ lives in there” Ford said and smiled, waiting intently for a reply. There was a pause, longer than would suggest was a good direction for a conversation, but as usual Ford kept smiling, far to enthusiastically. He took the pause as a sign to continue and started talking again.

“You wont believe the deal I made with this woman today, she was crazy stupid” He said as he waved his arms in the air, as if that’s what crazy people did, well ones that bought used eastern European cars anyway. From out of nowhere the sheriff burst with anger

“Put the God damn fire out moron!” He screamed higher than anyone had ever heard him before, like some sort of school girl hell bent on murder. Ford looked a little sheepish and sunk his head into his chest.

“Alright then, no need to yell” He said as he wondered over to retrieve the hose from the trailer. At first he turned it on full bore and just blasted away at the carcass of the trailer, bits of the wall flew off in all directions scattering valuable evidence with it. The sheriff slapped him across the back of the head, and motioned for him to turn down the pressure. Ford gave the nozzle a twist and the hard beam of water transformed into a fine mist and slowly wafted over the fire.

“This isn’t any fun” Ford mumbled to himself, the sheriff gave him a look and then moved off towards the crowd to start yelling again. Through the blackened mess Ford could make out the shape of Alessandro’s body. He didn’t know that’s what it was, all it looked like was a rather large roast of meat with a strange looking pink bird for a head. He kept staring at it wondering what it was, the fire by now was almost out so he moved closer to get a better look. A few more steps and he was almost in the trailer, peering down at the remains of the body. From in the distance came

“Ford! What are you doing, get out of the shitting crime scene” It was either the Sheriff or that same homicidal school girl he channelled before, Ford turned around only to see the Sheriff and Deputy Smith fast approaching. Ford stepped out of the mess he had just stepped into and safely back onto grass. The sheriff had planned on giving Ford a mouthful about the sanctity of the crime scene, but as the fire was out he just told him to piss off home and go back to sleep.

As he did he noticed what Ford had been so captivated by, having not seen the charred remains of a corpse before, he was a little sketchy as to what it was. Especially the pink thing springing out of one end of it. He knelt down over it, glaring at it as to will it to tell him what it was, it was only when Deputy Smith approached and said

“I always thought it would smell like chicken” Did the penny drop, why the sheriff even remembered that conversation from months ago was beyond him. But with that non sequitor from Smith he realised, that was it, this was Alessandro’s body. He knelt down over it and examined the burnt body, taking his pen from his shirt pocket and poking at the body slowly. Most of the flesh was blackened but it was still soft and his blue pen sunk into the remains. He hadn’t expected that and now had a pen covered in gore that he didn’t know where to put.

“Deputy take this” He said as he stuck his arm out behind him handing the pen to Smith. Smith being the dope he was immediately did as usual and placed the pen in his mouth, not thinking or just not knowing where it had previously been.

“I think we can assume this is Alessandro, unless he had some company.” The sheriff said trying his best to sound like he wasn’t as excited as hell to have a proper crime to solve. He turned to Deputy Smith and Ford whom both stood there smiling back at him. The sheriff only then noticed the pen sticking out of Smiths mouth, like some sort of human lolly pop, or flesh cigarette it dangled and danced about in his mouth as moved his mouth around like some figiting child unable to keep still. But that’s what Smith was, a giant man child riddled with ADD or OCD or some other anagram for something that could be cured with a dam good slapping. The Sheriff slowly wiped the sweat from his brow realigned his hat and then snapped the pen from Smiths mouth like a bolt of lightning.

“Idiot” he muttered and wandered off into the crowd. Meanwhile Smith stood there with the look of shock on his face, he turned to Ford and meekly spoke

“He must be tired he’s not really snappy like that”, Ford merely smiled back and just turned and walked off into the crowd to talk to anybody. Smith liked the Sheriff, painfully so at times, though not to himself, only other people could see the distain the Sheriff had for him. Smith, respected him, looked up to him, thought of him as a father more than anything. Probably because he had never known his, that had never really worried him as a child his mother had always filled in rather well. But sometimes he couldn’t help but stop and dream about what his childhood would have been like with someone like the sheriff around. Or anyone really, just a male to play ball with, go on car trips, go hunting and fishing. His mom had done all that with him because she felt the need to give the boy some proper manly traits but it had meant she’d had to learn all that stuff herself.

Smith had fond memories of marching out the back door at six in the morning shotgun in hand with his mother by his side holding a 30-30 lever action, off to get some jack rabbits. It was both their first time neither of them were really experienced with guns but that never stopped them. Out across the many fields and through fences until they got over the hills that surrounded Buckwheat on one side. Before them sprawled rolling pastures fit grazing animals, in the distance some cows milled around some feeders slowly gorging themselves in the first few slithers of sun that peaked over the horizon. Smiths mom looked around for something to shoot, scanning the grass and bushes eagle eyed ready to pounce on anything given the chance. If worst came to worst and they couldn’t find anything they could always just shoot one of the cows.

In the distance she spotted a set of little ears flicking through the grass, lazily hopping about munching on the greenest shoots picking and choosing the juiciest morsels of food. She tapped her son on the shoulder who was still staring at the cows lazily aiming his gun from the hip at them. Shocked from the sudden intrusion into his fantasy world he pulled the trigger in shock, the shotgun lurched into life and blasted a shot towards the cows. At some distance the it did no damage and was barley enough to warrant a dirty look from the cows. He turned to his mother and looked at her for a short second before

“Yeah, what is it” He peeped in his little voice, still shaking from the kick of the shotgun. She stood there and stared at the doe eyed little boy holding the very large shotgun and thought to herself she could still be asleep right now. But no, he needed to learn this so she had to do it.

“There was a rabbit but its probably gone now” She said to her son in a whisper, which was now pointless but seemed like good practice for the next time.

“What that one” her boy said back, pointing to the rabbit that sat there staring at them, twitching its ears and slowly eating a disappearing blade of grass. The piece wiggled up and down as it ate slowly growing smaller and smaller. She looked straight at the rabbit, staring straight into its eyes and it just sat there and stared back.

“Quick, take the shot” She whispered out the side of her mouth trying to not let the rabbit see her lips move.

“Are you talking to me?” The young smith questioned as he gazed back at the cows again waving his gun with reckless abandon in all directions. His mother closed her eyes and thought of a calm happy place, a quiet field covered in grass, rolling hills and peacefully gusts of wind occasionally blowing through. So enough though she realised that’s where she was already, but now her dense but loveable son was with her.

“Yes dear, shoot the rabbit quickly before it gets away” She said calmly point at the rabbit as she spoke. The young boy raised the gun from his hip and pulled on the pump action, it was stiff and made a loud noise as it went, the empty shell ejected itself from the breach and fell to the ground. He stuck the butt of the gun into his shoulder tight and then looked down the sight at the bunny. Without thinking for to long he pulled the trigger, and missed by an unspecified amount. The rabbit slightly annoyed its peaceful morning hop had been disturbed ambled off into the bushes before Smith could get his shotgun ready to fire again.

“I think I missed it” he said slowly peering around the bushes for visual confirmation, of his kill.

“Yes dear I think you did, never mind how about we go home and have some breakfast” His mother said running her hands through his hair, maybe some things were just out of her sons reach. Maybe he’d get it later, she hoped, the two turned and moved back towards their house, up over the hill through the long grass and fences to their back door.

humor-blogs.com thinks that was well worth reading... it has very good taste.

4 comments:

  1. Does everything smell like chicken too? First taste, now smell. I think chicken is taking over the world.

    Excellent story...

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  2. VE- chicken is definitely gunning for universal control...

    Thanks for reading it

    ReplyDelete
  3. Really nice. Hook line and sinker on your first line! Which was hilarious. Just great!

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  4. alantru- Glad you read and enjoyed it!

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