Cesspool (6 page)

“Hey, Mr. Fisher,” Jessica said. “What can I get for you?” She wore black jeans and a white polo shirt with Dot’s Diner embroidered on the upper left corner.

“I didn’t know you worked here,” James said.

“Three nights a week, after class. I’ve been trying to get a few lunch shifts, but those are hard to come by. Ladies have been working those shifts for thirty years or more. If you come at lunch, you’ll see a bunch of sixty-year-old waitresses.”

“I thought you did a very nice job on your presentation tonight. It was well-researched, and you’re an excellent speaker. Are you planning to transfer to a four-year school?”

She shrugged. “I’d like to go to Penn State, but money’s an issue. I figure I’ll knock out my associates at the community college and then see. In the meantime, I save every dime.”

James nodded. “Good for you.”

“So what’ll it be?” she asked.

“I know it’s late, but I could go for some scrambled eggs and bacon. Oh, and some coffee too.”

* * *

As James finished his eggs, Jessica topped off his coffee.

“Do you know Leon outside of class?” James asked.

“We went to high school together,” she said, “but he keeps to himself. I think his mom’s a doctor or a nurse or something.” She frowned. “I heard his dad’s in prison for murder, but that might not be true. People gossip so much around here.”

The police officers stood from the booth and strolled to the door as if they didn’t have a care in the world.

“He’s a smart kid,” James said.

Jessica nodded, her eyes on the officers. The younger one was wiry, with tan skin and thin dark hair. His nose was pointed, almost beaklike. The older one was broader, with a mustache, and dark obviously dyed hair that was receding. His neck skin was loose and hanging.

The older cop tapped his large gold ring on the counter. “You be good, girl,” the cop said.

“I will,” she replied through a tight smile.

“See you next week,” the younger officer said.

After the men left, she said to James, “That’s Kurt’s father and brother. You know, the one Leon was talking about.”

James nodded.

“They come here every Monday night—same time, same place. They even sit in the same booth.”

“Is Kurt’s dad the police chief?”

“Yes.”

“I thought I saw his picture on the township website.”

“You should probably be careful.”

“Why?” James asked.

Jessica bit the corner of her lower lip. “I think Kurt’s used to doing whatever he wants. You just might not want to piss him off.”

James chuckled. “So I’m supposed to have a different standard for this kid because his family has a little power?”

“How long have you been living here?”

“About three months.”

“And I’m guessing you came from a big city?”

“A suburb of DC.”

“People talk about how quaint and safe it is in a small town, and I agree it can be. But the problem with small towns is that people don’t like outsiders, and they don’t like people who are different from them.”

James nodded.

“The other thing you have to understand is the police have a lot of power. It’s not like the ritzy suburbs where people have money and lawyers. Around here, everyone’s poor, so the police can do whatever they want. I believe what Leon said about being harassed.”

“So they just go around and harass anyone they don’t like?”

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “I don’t know.” She glanced around to make sure everyone was out of earshot. “There is one thing I do know,” she said in a hushed voice. “Last year Kurt and the Callahan brothers got caught up in this meth bust. They were all holding enough drugs to show that they were selling. Anyway the Callahan brothers are in prison for I don’t know how long, and Kurt, well, you saw him in class. I’m pretty sure nothing happened to him. I’m just saying, they have rules for us and rules for them.”

* * *

Kurt stood at the podium, facing the class, his backward-facing baseball cap pulled down to his eyebrows. “You don’t see people filmin’ police officers doin’ all the good stuff they do. The police are the difference between havin’ a peaceful place and thugs runnin’ things. If we didn’t have police, people would be crazy. Without law enforcement, people would just do whatever they want. It’s easy to sit back and look at a video and criticize, but it’s a hard job, and those people bitchin’ couldn’t do any better.” Kurt looked up from his paper.

“Thanks, Kurt,” James said. “As always, we’ll open up the class for questions and comments. Remember, be respectful, and, bear in mind, part of your grade is based on class participation and how well you can defend your thesis.”

Leon’s hand shot up.

“Go ahead, Leon,” James said.

“First of all,” Leon said, “your whole presentation was opinion. You didn’t have one fact.”

Kurt narrowed his eyes. “What about the murder rate in Baltimore going up because police are afraid to do their job?”

“Who do you think controls the crime statistics?”

Kurt laughed. “So you’re sayin’ the cops lied about the statistics to make it look like there were more murders? Now look who’s sayin’ shit without proof.”

“The police lie. That’s what they do.”

“I’ll agree with you there. The police lie, but they do it to arrest thugs.”

Leon shook his head. “They don’t care about arresting criminals. They care about maintaining power and control. You’re biased because of your family.”

“Let’s not get personal. Stick to provable facts, guys,” James said.

Kurt had a shit-eating grin. “So I’m biased because my dad and brother are police officers?”

“That’s what I said.”

“That’s enough, you two,” James said.

Kurt stroked his pencil-thin beard. “If that’s true, then you must be biased because your dad’s a rapist and a murderer.”

Leon shot out of his seat.

“That’s enough, Kurt,” James said. “Leon, please sit down.”

Kurt cackled. “See? Already tryin’ to murder me. It’s in his blood.”

Leon sat down. “The police are corrupt and incompetent,” Leon said. “That’s why my dad’s in prison.”

“If my dad was a murderin’ rapist piece of shit, I’d prob’ly wanna blame the police too.”

“You need to leave,” James said to Kurt.

Kurt held his palms up. “It’s okay for him to insult my family with lies, but I can’t tell the truth about his? This is some reverse-racist bullshit.”

“Good-bye, Kurt.”

Chapter 6: The Girl Next Door

Chapter 6

The Girl Next Door

James leaned on his truck, watching the gallons and dollars soar skyward on the digital pump. When his phone rang, he reached into his pocket and fished out his cell. He glanced at the number and tapped the green icon.

“Shouldn’t you be working?” James said. “I’m telling Dr. Dicks.”

“I’m on my lunch break,” Yolanda replied. “What are you doing?”

“Filling up my truck. I’m surprised I haven’t spontaneously combusted. I’m staring at a sticker of a cell phone with a big red
X
over it.”

“I can call you later.”

“Hell no. I love to live life on the edge.”

Yolanda giggled.

“How are you doing?” James asked.

“I’m good. Busy. How’s the fall semester?”

“It’s going well. I’m teaching Modern American History and Ancient Greece at night. I have some nice kids. A lot of my summer school students from Current Events signed up with me again.”

“What about that problem student you were telling me about?”

“Kurt?”

“Yes.”

“Thankfully no. That’s one kid I was happy to see go. Every once in a while you get a kid who you just know is evil. It’s scary. I was afraid to give him the grade he deserved.”

“What did you give him?”

“A C-.”

“What did he deserve?”

“A C-, but I really don’t know what I would have done if he would’ve failed. I may have passed him to avoid any blowback. That kid gives me the creeps. Unfortunately, I still see him Monday, Wednesday, and Fridays.”

James removed the gas nozzle, placed it on the pump, and screwed on his gas cap.

“I thought you said he wasn’t in your class.”

“He’s not. I think he’s taking English Lit. He makes a point of staring at me as he walks by my class on the way to the parking lot.”

“Can I call you later? A patient just walked into my office.”

James drove from the gas station toward his cabin. He turned down the gravel road, admiring the scenery. Oaks, maples, and hickory trees displayed their fall color. Movement to his left diverted his attention from the October glory. James stopped his truck and rolled down his window.
Again? If this is what goes on outside, I can only imagine what goes on inside.

He squinted through the trees that partially concealed their single-wide trailer. The young woman, her hand on her cheek, backed away from the porch and the middle-aged man. He had a salt-and-pepper beard with no mustache, like the Amish, but James was pretty sure the man wasn’t Amish. He said something inaudible and pointed to the ground in front of him. The small woman stepped toward the man, with her head down. As soon as she was within his reach, he grabbed her and forced her inside.

James exited his truck and crept toward the trailer. The same red Ford Ranger was parked in the driveway. He stopped and hid behind a large oak, one hundred feet away from the house. He listened. … Nothing. He returned to his truck.

James pulled into his driveway and carried two grocery bags to the front door. Two stacks of cardboard boxes sat on the front porch, with UPS shipping labels attached. He put away the groceries and carried the boxes inside one at a time. He placed them near the back door and pulled the oversize doormat from the floor, revealing a two-by-two square hatch. James grabbed the rope and pulled the hatch open. He carried the boxes down steep steps to the basement, where pallets were stacked with similar-looking boxes and fifty-gallon buckets.

He set them down and pulled a string on the solitary bulb. The ceiling was low, six feet. The walls were stone rubble, the floor dirt. One small window was near the top of the wall that faced the backyard. It was boarded up and covered from the outside with earth. He added the new boxes where he had space. Afterward he pulled the string on the light, shut the hatch, and covered it with the doormat.

He made lunch and turned on his laptop. He ate as he read.

After a leisurely lunch, James walked out the front door and inspected his fruit trees. The trees looked smaller.
Are they losing their leaves?
He looked closer.

“God damn it,” he said, inspecting the jagged ends of the branches.

A couple trees had bark scraped off their trunks. He exhaled.
That can’t be good
. He pulled the hose from the reel and watered the trees. Then he pulled the hose to the garden near the driveway. The plants were wilted, yellowish, and stunted. Half of the tomatoes had dark spots on the bottom of the fruit. He took the diseased tomatoes to the backyard and tossed them in the woods. He heard a twig snap and instinctively looked in that direction. He saw a flash of white in the woods. James crept toward the forest edge. Once inside the wood line, leaves crunched under his feet, negating any surprise.

“Is anyone there?” James called out.

The young woman he saw in the domestic dispute stepped from behind a large hickory tree. She wore a soiled white sweater, no bra, baggy jeans, and a scarf.

“Hi. I’m James,” he said as he walked toward her.

“Hi,” she said, frozen to the forest floor with her head down.

James closed the gap, getting a closer look at the woman, only to realize that, if she was a woman, it was just barely. She looked young, sixteen or seventeen maybe. She was short, five feet tall, thin, and smelled like cigarettes.

“How are you doing?” James asked within arm’s length.

“I’m fine,” she said to the ground.

“I think I saw you earlier, a couple miles from here. Was that you in front of the trailer with the older man? Is that your father?”

She shook her head, her stringy brown hair stiff and dirty.

“That wasn’t you?”

She looked up through puffy eyes. “That’s not my dad.”

Despite her disheveled appearance, she had pretty blue eyes, full pink lips, and an attractive symmetrical face.

“Can I help you with something?”

She was unresponsive.

“How did you get here?”

She turned around and pointed. “Trail back there.”

“The older man, is he a friend or a relative?”

She turned back to James, her eyes glued to the forest floor. “He takes care of me.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you?”

“I’ll be nineteen on Christmas.”

James chuckled. “So you’ve been getting ripped off for eighteen years.”

She looked up at him with wide eyes.

“With presents,” James said. “People with Christmas birthdays always get ripped off with presents. People say they’ll give you separate presents for your birthday, but it all gets lost in the Christmas madness.”

The corners of her mouth turned up for a split second. “That’s true.”

“So, are you still in school?”

“I just help Mr. Harold. Whatever he needs.”

“I teach at the community college. History. I moved here from Virginia this past spring.”

“I seen you when you moved in.”

James raised his eyebrows. “You did?”

She blushed. “I go on the trail a lot. We don’t get too many new people around here.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“How come you ain’t had nobody help you move in?”

James smiled. “You can always tell how many friends you have by how many people are willing to help you move.”

She giggled.

“When I saw you, I was throwing out diseased tomatoes. I’m about ready to give up on gardening. I have a serious black thumb.” James took a couple steps and picked up one of the bad tomatoes. He held it out to the girl. “See? This is what they look like.”