Heaps
“I ain’t sure about this, Sheriff,” Deputy Barker said. “You gonna just knock that door down?”
“You got a problem with it?” Sheriff Lowe said. “It’s a fuckin’ trailer at Starlight Trailer Park. A fuckin’ heap of shit in the middle of nowhere. Even God’s forgot about Starlight Trailer Park. Nobody gonna give a damn.”
“You think he’s in there?”
“I sure as hell hope so.”
“You ready?”
Sheriff Lowe kicked the door down, and Deputy Barker drew her Glock 40.
“Twain County, motherfucker!” Barker yelled.
“If you see him and he’s got a weapon, you know what to do.”
“You hear that, Jason! Sheriff gave me permission to blow a hole in you!”
The trailer’s living room was ransacked. A talk show rattled the speakers of an old television, and the picture glared brightly as it cast shadows on the dark paneled wall. The carpet was light yellow, and darker shades of brown made circles from dried cat piss. There was a half-eaten slice of pizza smashed into the carpet, clothes jumbled in piles, and the trailer smelled strong of cats and rotting food. There was movement in the kitchen.
Barker shoots.
“Holy fuckin’ hell!” Lowe yelled. The gunpowder curled around the Sheriff and deputy. They stood still and listened for movement.
A cat jumped off of the kitchen counter.
“Sorry, Sheriff. I thought there — I saw — ”
“Be still. I heard something.”
The television got louder as the television blared — My pillows are a gift from God. They are a blessing and give heavenly sleep! Don’t be fooled by the naysayers. Call —
“Get the fuck down!” Barker yelled.
A boy rose from a pile of clothes. The clothes fell to the side as the boy stood slowly to his feet. His eyes were buried in the shadow of his forehead. The darkness made his eye glows and drool glistened on the corner of his mouth. He appeared to lean on a crutch tucked inside a black trench coat, and his white skin glowed with the sun that beamed through a small window.
The ghoulish boy drew a sawed off shotgun and blasted.
Lowe fell face down and shook the trailer.
“You little fucker!” Barker yelled. “Put your weapon down!”
The boy racked another shell and pulled the trigger again. When he shot the weapon, his body jarred with each shot, and his eyes watered and blinked coldly. Barker ducked behind a dingy, stained couch. A blast blew the corner off the couch while dust and cat hair floated in the air.
Barker hit the ground. Her elbows were on the floor of the trailer, and she felt movement. Loud, rhythmic steps shook the room like a bass drum. The television went silent. There was another loud blast. Barker peeked around the corner of the couch. The boy was standing over Lowe, and the sheriff’s body was a red a pile of meat.
Barker closed her eyes tightly. She moved stiffly as instinct told her to hide. She heard a crunch on the floor from bare feet on a candy bar wrapper. She was going to make a quick movement and start shooting at the center mass of the boy’s body.
The couch’s springs sounded as they decompressed slowly. She looked up to find the barrel of a gun.
The shot rattled the hollow walls.
***
“Yeah, I know the one. Over by the Slurp and Serve — off tenth?” Detective Black said. He held the phone to his ear, and his mirrored glasses leaned sideways on the bridge of his nose. Black’s straw cowboy hat tilted to the side and bobbed as he took notes on a yellow legal pad. The engine of the patrol car was loud and whistled rhythmically in the still, thick humid air.
“Ah, shit, Starlight Trailer Park?” Detective Morrago said.
“Yeah, give us twenty minutes.” Black straightened his glasses and he joined the rhythm of the engine as he tapped along with his hand against the door. He looked at Morrago and shook his head. “Fuckin’ Twain County — right smack dab in the middle of the devil’s asshole.”
“Damn, I thought it was gonna be a good day.”
“Not today, Ice Cube.” Black smiled and tightened his hand around the steering wheel.
“That phone call sounded bad.”
“Yep. It looks that way.”
“What are we lookin’ at?” Morrago cracked his neck.
“A dead sheriff and deputy. They were responding to a call. There was a report that a boy with a shotgun shot a pit bull in the trailer park and then pointed it at the neighbor’s kid. The sheriff and deputy broke down the front door, and the kid killed them both. Kid’s twelve years old.”
“Do they have him?”
“Nope.”
“Where’s mom and dad?”
“Don’t know. The boy lives with his mom. Dad’s not in the picture.”
“Let’s go find momma? Give her a little talking to.”
“I wanna see the scene first.”
“You are a gory, perverted sonofabitch.” Morrago stared at Black and blinked repeatedly. “You love this shit, don’t you? Probably makes your pecker hard. Blood and guts. Schwing!” Morrago leaned back, thrusted his pelvis in the air, and laughed loudly.
“You know it.” Black said flatly. He shook his head and spat in a Coke bottle. “Why me?”
“Why me? My question: why you? I mean, I come from Arizona, and they give me this redneck that walks around with a dip in his mouth and Irritable Bowel Syndrome out his ass.”
“Yeah, they give me the retardedest motherfucker — .”
“Damn, that’s all you got?” Morrago laughed and slapped his leg. “Says Detective Wonder Bread over here.” Morrago pinched his nose. “Yes, that sandwich has spicy mustard. I can’t touch it. It gives me the squirts.”
“I don’t know how they say it in your culture, but you probably better brace yourself. Comprende”
“Really? You’re going there?” He pinched his nose again. “I don’t know how they say it in your culture — ”
“For real, though, it is gonna be a motherfucker.”
“Yeah, I’m buckled up.” Morrago’s voice lost its melody. “Fuckin’ killed Lowe and his partner? That’s so fucking fucked.”
“Yep. You’re using your words now.”
“Crazy shit is that we’re looking for a twelve-year-old cop killer.”
The detectives drove towards Twain. Black put a CD in and played some bluegrass music. The bass and banjos swirled, and the detectives held conversation inside themselves. They sped through the trees that bowed to the road and made their way to Twain County.
When the detectives arrived at Starlight Trailer Park, it was alive with gawkers. There were Starlight residents standing around in various forms of dress in the dirt yard that surrounded the Bolerjacks’s trailer. It looked like a tornado hit, and the town came out to see the damage. Twain County deputies were in tears, directing traffic and holding the crowd back.
“Welcome to the asscrack of the world, boys,” Deputy Baum said. His thin whisps of hair blew in the breeze, and he talked while holding his belly. His eyes were red from crying, and his face was gray with stubble.
“Detective Black.” Black shook Baum’s hand firmly.
“Deputy Baum,” Baum said. “Nice to meet you. I heard a lot about you.”
“Detective Morrago,” Morrago said. He shook hands with Baum. “Quite a cluster fuck, partner, ain’t it?” Morrago kicked dirt around with his Justins. “Fuck. What a heap of shit we have here.”
“Yessir,” Baum said. “I just can’t believe he’s gone.”
“Yep, Lowe was a good one,” Black said. “Excuse me.” He spat tobacco on the ground and buried his thoughts. “I’m going to go in there and take a look around.”
“I hope you got a stomach,” Baum said. He wiped his eye with his fat finger.
“He don’t,” Morrago said as he flashed a smile.
“I’ll be o.k.,” Black said. He fixed his sunglasses and tilted his hat.
“I’ll get the bag out of the trunk,” Morrago said. “Anything else you want me to get?”
“How about do me a favor, Morrago?” Black said.
“Yes, buddy?”
“How about go fuck yourself.”
“Oh, boy!” Baum said, and he whistled an airy melody. “You two sound about like me and my wife.”
“Morrago wishes,” Black said.
“I dream of that man,” Morrago sang as he turned to walk to the patrol car.
“Anybody talked to mom?” Black said.
“No, we can’t find her,” Baum said. “She’s a whore.”
“A whore? What do you mean?”
“I mean, like, a prostitute.”
“Gotcha.” Black wiped his mouth. He looked at the tree line behind the trailer park. “I bet that boy’s close. You cleared the house?”
“Yessir, did it myself.”
“Maybe he’s in the woods back there?”
“Could you have racked a shotgun like that at twelve?” Baum patted his belly. “I don’t think I could have.”
“Probably not like what that boy did. Well, I’m sure of that. So, there’s nobody looking for the boy out there?”
“No, we don’t have enough men. There’s only four of us. That boy is named Jeffery Bolerjack, by the way. He’s a strange one, alright. One of those that likes to experiement on the trailer park pets if you know what I mean.”
“Can’t wait to put a face with the name. Can you organize a sweep? We only got a little of time to try and catch ole’ Jeffy.”
“I can do, boys.” Baum said. He squinted at the sun and bit his lip. “It’s a hot one. Try and stay cool. The air in that trailer is broke.”
“Shit. It’s bananas you only got four deputies running into each other out here. Troop I will be sending forensics. They usually take their sweet ass time.”
“I’ll bet.” Baum popped his back, and his weight shifted to one side. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his shirt was wet with rings. “I’m going to have to go to the office and organize some of the deputized men in town. It’ll take a second. Most of those guys work at the sawmill.”
“Sounds good.”
“What’s up with that Morrago guy?”
“What do you mean? He’s a great detective — we like to bust each other’s balls.”
“I mean, is he, like, queer?”
“What if he is? Would you like me to set you up or something?”
“Hell no!” Baum’s eyebrows crumpled. He shook his head. “I mean, I just wondered. I didn’t mean nothin’. Got nothin’ against gays.”
“Good. Now, see if we can’t get some men walking these woods.” Baum tipped his hat and nodded.
“See you boys soon.”
Moraggo stood over the trunk of the Crown Victoria. He gathered a bag of supplies, and Black watched as he put a rifle over his shoulder.
“Moraggo! What are you doing with that rifle?” Morrago walked with the bag of supplies as the sun beat on his back.
“I’m going to walk those woods while you go in the trailer.” Morrago tossed the bag of supplies to Black. He tugged at his shoulder holster and leaned the rifle’s barrel against his body. “He might just be back there.” Morrago winked towards the woods.
“Be safe, Detective.”
“Always, buddy.” Morrago tipped his hat with his free hand.
Black pulled his sunglasses off and put it in the front pocket of his jacket. He put on rubber gloves as he stared at the trailer. The detective surveyed the yard and looked for the obvious. Were there unusual eyes on the scene? Was there a strange commotion happening in an ear’s shot? In Starlight Trailer Park, everything was bizarre. There was a woman in her underwear with a pink tank top on. Her hair stood on end, and she scratched her belly that flopped over her dirty underwear. A young man with no teeth stood outside, and he ate a raw hotdog as his mangy dog watched. An old man stopped and started a John Deere in the grown-up yard, dismounted it, and did it all over again. Whatever looked normal outside of The Starlight was quite different from the inside goings-on.
A large woman in a long denim skirt with a Pentecostal bun walked swiftly towards Black. Cats hunched their backs and hissed as the woman walked through the still heat. Her arms flopped by her side as she walked.
“You talked to that retarded boy’s mom yet? Judy — she goes to our church on Wednesdays for the potluck. We ain’t seen her for days.”
“No, ma’am. We just got the news. I aim to get to the bottom of this and get you all back to your normal life.” Black turned his head to the woods and watched Morrago walk into the tree line. The woman stared at him suspiciously.
“Normal life?” The woman laughed. “That’s a laugh.”
“Yep. Whatever the hell that is.”
“You watch your mouth, Detective. We know a lot about hell around here.”
“Sorry, ma’am.”
“No need to apologize. I just pray you find him. I pray you find Judy, too. She needs the Lord back in her life. She was a good Christian girl.”
“What rock do I need to turn over to find her?”
“Just depends what man she’s shackin’ up with this week. She’s with a new flavor all the time.”
“So, no ideas?”
“The last one was the owner over at Cousin’s. I think his name is Coye?”
“The pawn shop owner?”
“Yeah, Cousin’s.”
“Ma’am, thanks for talking with me. I’m Detective — ”
“Black. I’ve heard of you. I’m Sally Kerr.”
“Miss Sally, if you see anything, hear anything, or smell anything peculiar, talk to me. Here’s my card.”
“You find him, Detective. Ain’t gonna be no peace until that boy is brought in. He killed those sheriffs and the Moss’s doggie. That is the devil’s work.”
“A day in the life, ma’am. A day in the life. You take care, now.”
The detective walked toward the trailer with the bag of supplies and nearly gagged when he approached the door. The smell of death was louder than sound. It crept inside the detective and shook him from the inside. As he walked up the steps to the trailer, the smell crawled inside him and slept with grotesque heaviness. Black swallowed with a dry mouth and gulped.
There was a loud shot.
“Shit!” Black yelled. “Fuck!” Black stumbled down the porch stairs and ran towards the trees that overlooked Starlight Trailer Park. His boots thudded as they dug in the ground. His long strides cut through the air as he ran through the weeds and thorns without slowing. He jumped through a clump of weeds, entered the tree line, and stopped. Silence and then pounding. His heartbeat loudly as he tried to listen, and his eyes throbbed with rhythm. Stillness was inside the trees.
“Morrago!” Black yelled. He stepped with caution, and as his voice echoed back. The local deputies crunched the forest leaves as they appeared inside the woods. “Stay back!”
“What happened?” a red-cheeked, freckled-faced man barreled out. “Who did the shot?”
“You, dickwad! Put your fuckin’ gun down. Morrago is out here.”
“Yessir, Detective.”
“Black!” Morrago’s voice shot through the trees.
“Morrago!” Black yelled back. “Where you at! We got a body!”
***
“I never seen no woman blow her head off like that,” Black said.
“It sure ain’t pretty, is it?” Morrago said. Morrago stood over the body. “Ma’am, your lipstick is a little smudged.” He turned his head with a shit-eating grin and waited for a laugh from the small congregation. A short round deputy that pulled at his pants obliged.
Black looked at Morrago and cocked his head. His jaw tightened, and his face reddened.
“Have some respect for the dead. What’s wrong with you?”
“My bad. Sorry, I don’t do death.”
“Yeah. My stomach feels like one large hamster wheel.”
“That’s what they call bubbling suspense.”
“O.k., that’ll be — ” The detective turned, hunched, and puked in a thorn bush. He held his belly and leaned forward. His stomach emptied on the vines. “Shit!” A thorn grabbed his jacket and his hat. “Fuck!
“Detective, you o.k.?” Deputy Hocks asked.
“I just need a minute,” Black said. “These fuckin’ vines will grab your dick.”
“There’s the murder weapon. Maybe it was Mom that shot everybody that barged through the barn door?”
“Yep, a Mossberg 500. Holds five shells. That would do the trick.”
“When is Baum coming back with the villagers? Anybody know?” Morrago said. “Black, you heard from forensics?”
“Baum will probably eat a snack, make a call, go to the diner, make a call, and maybe have a group of yokels by early evening,” Hock said. “He’ll take his time.”
“I ain’t — Black started. He threw up again. “Fuck, my Justins!”
“Poor guy puked on his Justins,” Morrago said. “I’m not gonna laugh, Black. I want to but I ain’t.”
“Unless you want one in your asscrack, I suggest you don’t.”
“Aye aye. What do you suggest? I feel like we’re all just standing around with our dicks in our hands. I’ll go see if I can’t find the boy. Someone needs to question Coye and see what brand of fucked up is going on around here.”
“You’re elected,” Black said. “Congratulations.”
“What? I can’t hear your sweet voice over the rumble of that belly of yours.” Black looked for an audience. “I’ll gladly question a doe-eyed redneck in the middle of shittown — pardon my language, boys.”
“When I get my stomach back, I’ll take a look in that trailer. I need some water and a seat.”
“Detective, I’ll get ya a bottle and chair,” Hocks said. Hocks straightened his belt and marched away from the scene. He bobbed from side to side when he walked, and his ass shined in the sun peeking through the trees.
“Moraggo?”
“Yep, buddy?”
“I swallered a dip when I was running. That’s why I was throwin’ up. I got a stronger stomach than this normally.”
“Whatever you say, partner. I am gonna head that way — over to Cousin’s.”
“Hope Coye ain’t no psycho.”
“Yep, if we can find old Jeffy Bolerjack, we can shut crazy town down.”
“I think I am gonna be sick.”
***
Detective Morrago arrived at the pawnshop and looked at the huge sign above the barred windows.
“Cousin’s,” he laughed. “Cousin’s — the more I say it, the funnier that shit is.” Morrago nodded at a man in flannel, wearing a trucker hat, kicking the tires of a beat-up lawnmower in the parking lot. “Needs some air in ’em, huh?”
“You talkin’ to me?”
“No, I am talking to the other guy kicking the tire of a lawnmower in Cousin’s parking lot. Yeah, I’m talking to you.”
“Your one of them hilarious types, ain’t you?”
“Listen, I was just makin’ small talk. I usually avoid talking to guys that are dentally challenged.”
“What did you say?”
“Oh, you can’t hear either? I said, dentally — ”
“You motherfucker!”
The man ran at Moraggo. Morrago calmly pulled his gun off of his hip.
“Hold still, asshole. I am a cop, dicks for brains.”
The man reached in his back pocket and pointed a revolver at Moraggo.
“I said I am a cop. C-O-P, comprende?” Morrago flashed his badge. “Go fuck yourself hillbilly boy.”
“This’d all be different if we was in the woods somewhere. Somewhere where badges don’t count.”
“Don’t get all Deliverance on me, boy. Get the fuck out of here.”
The man tucked his revolver in his front pocket and walked toward the door of the pawn shop. He looked over his shoulder and kept his hands where Morrago could see them.
“You gonna shoot me?” he said.
“I mean, get the fuck out of here.”
“This is my shop, and I ain’t leaving my shop.”
“You Coye?”
“Depends who’s askin’.”
“Me. A detective with Troop I. I am investigating the death of Sheriff Lowe and Deputy Barker.”
“Not out here, I ain’t. I ain’t saying one more word until we go inside.”
Morrago holstered his weapon. Coye tipped his trucker hat and motioned to go inside. Morrago followed Coye inside the pawn shop and looked at a dusty boar head mounted on the wall inside. Fluorescent lights, guns, guitars, and taxidermy glowed in the smoky room.
“Welcome to my nightmare,” Coye said. “I’m gonna lock that door if we’re talking.”
“Go right ahead, cowboy,” Morrago said. “This is quite a place you got.”
“Yeah, it ain’t as busy as it should be. That sportin’ goods store in Phelps County has been hurtin’ my business.” Coye looked through the door and locked it. “Here, let’s go over to this counter. I don’t want anyone seein’ me talking to a pig.”
“Yeah, a pig, huh? Let me cut to the chase, big dog. What do you know about the Bolerjack boy?”
“Oh, god. Does she want some child support for that retarded boy, or something? I wasn’t even with her that long, and he fer sure as hell ain’t mine.” Coye’s glassy eyes looked cloudy, and he shook his head. “It’s a regular freakshow over there.”
“About Judy — she’s dead.”
“You’re fuckin’ kidding me?” Coye’s eyes filled with tears. “Am I a suspect, ‘er something?”
“No, you’re no suspect. We got a dead sheriff and deputy, and I am here to see if you may have a clue where we might find that little creep.”
“He’s missing?” Coye wiped his eyes.
“Yes, we can’t find him.”
“He never goes 100 feet from that trailer. He freaks out with nerves when he has to leave.”
“Let me ask you this — is he capable of using a shotgun? Is he capable of killing Lowe and Barker?”
“I’d say he probably is — he shot bottles right in front of that trailer with the preacher over at the Faith Walkers Ministry.”
“With a BB gun?”
Coye laughed.
“You mind if I pour myself a little of that Mr. Jack Daniels over there. He’ll pat me on the back and loosen my lips a little.”
“Go right ahead. Anything you can tell me about Jeff and Judy is gonna help this town go back to shitting in its shithole.”
“Yeah, Twain County don’t belong on the news.” Coye took a gulp from the bottle of whiskey, squinted, and pounded the bottle on the glass counter.
“Tell me what you know.”
“Look, that preacher was fuckin’ around with that boy. Like, fuckin’ him, and I’m pretty sure Judy knew. She asked me if I thought if he was being creepy, and I said of course, he is. You don’t go into a room and shut the door and pray for hours at a time with a mentally handicapped kid.”
“What did the preacher say he was doing in there?”
“Praying the tard away? I don’t know. He was teaching him repenting — or something like that.”
“You were there?”
“I was. I was banging Judy when I was over. Things just got kind of weird with that preacher guy.”
“How?”
“You think I got a gun obsession? He’s twisted. He talks about the government coming after our guns and all kindsa ‘we gotta protect our rights’ shit. He bought Jeffy a shotgun and .22 pistol from here. Told him if the government ever comes to fuckin’ blast ’em. Jeffy ain’t got much upstairs either.”
“Holy fuck. So, you think he could rack a shotgun shell and put holes in Twain County’s finest?”
“I am sure he could physically. I seen him shoot bottles at close range.”
“What about Judy?”
“Judy, hell no. She was terrified of the guns.”
“Why did she let that preacher fuck around with Jeffery?”
“She thought it was the right thing to do, I guess. She said he was a man of the Lord.”
“Wow, sound s like a fuckin’ angel. Chaplin Chester the molester?”
“Yeah, I told you it was crazy town over there. Just fuckin’ weirdo world.”
“Sounds like it.”
“Yep, that boy would cover himself up in piles of clothes and say he was waiting on the time.”
“What did you say?”
“He waited in heaps of clothes — he could stay still for hours. There was no telling where he was in that trailer — there was shit everywhere in that house. He said, ‘Mr. Coye, I will be ready for the time.’”
“Oh, God!”
“Did I say something? You look like a fucking ghost — ”
“Keep talking!”
“He was good at hiding. Weird little fucker.”
“Shit!” Morrago stepped away from the glass counter, reached inside his pocket, and dialed Black.
***
Black walked up the rotten barnwood stairs. When he got to the deck, he swallowed hard and pushed the door open. The trailer’s smell gagged him. He looked at the ceiling, and it was black. Flies made it that way. They buzzed, flew, and landed. A cat hissed as he crossed the threshold. The cat piss and smell of death dizzied the detective. He gagged and covered his mouth. He turned to the doorway and took a deep breath of fresh air.
He turned back to the room and held his arm to his nose. He gagged again and exhaled slowly. His stomach turned sideways as he fought it off.
“C’mon, tell me something,” Black said softly. He saw the sheriff’s head with bits of skull and brain exploded beside it. “Oh, dear Jesus.”
He saw dirty clothes in heaps. He saw dishes heaped high. He saw the deputy in a heap. His head became light, and the rays of sun added to the haze.
He felt a buzz against his leg, and he silenced his phone.
“Fuck me. I’m gonna have to settle down.” He gagged in the back of his throat.
He walked down a narrow hallway, and he heard glass break in the kitchen. He drew his weapon. He turned behind him and saw a cat running to hide. He exhaled slowly and holstered his gun.
He looked in the master bedroom, and there were mounds of clothes piled on the floor, the bed was unmade, and it smelled like piss and feet. His eyes batted, and he struggled to breathe. The trailer’s floor shook.
“Fuckin’ cats.”
He turned, and sick Jeffery Bolerjack’s pistol met his head.
A quick blast stirred the courtyard. Law enforcement ran towards the trailer, neighbors jumped, and birds took to the air as Bolerjack’s left another pile on the floor and left a hole in Black’s head.
— — -
Bio: Robert Wofford is a writer and musician from the Ozarks. Wofford writes dark-themed tales influenced by anxiety and poverty, dancing alongside the looming Missouri hills. Wofford’s music is featured in Criminal Minds, Shameless, and the Tremors anthology.
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