Sintown Chronicles II: Through Bedroom Windows

by David O. Dyer, Sr.

  * * * *

  The faded brown pickup truck bounced onto the rutted driveway, causing the cargo in the back to come dangerously close to spilling over the tailgate.

  “Slow down, Eddie,” Greta said.

  “Shut up, bitch."

  He stopped in front of the small frame house. “Ain't much, is it?” he asked. “It'll take a bush hog to mow down the bushes and saplings in the front yard."

  “Why not just leave it?” she asked. “It provides some privacy from cars driving by and you won't ever have to mow it."

  “Won't be many cars driving by,” he said. “There is only one other house on Schoolhouse Road. There'll be plenty of noise from the playground, though, during recess and stuff."

  Greta opened her door and looked towards the school. “I don't know. Looks like the playground is pretty far off.” She sat back in the seat. “I like the porch and the house don't look like it needs painting. What's it look like inside?"

  “Don't know."

  “You haven't looked inside?"

  “Not really. I looked around a little, but it was dark inside and I couldn't see much. I had a man go by this morning and fill up the fuel oil tank and check out the furnace."

  “Why'd you leave so early this morning?"

  “I told you, I had to come get the key, have the electricity turned on and the fuel oil tank filled."

  “You could have brought me with you, this morning. Why didn't you?"

  “I decided to let you sleep. You're going to need you strength to clean this place up."

  “Yeah. It's probably a mess. I guess we'll both be worn out before this day's over."

  “Not me, bitch. Cleaning is woman's work."

  “What the hell are you gonna do all day?"

  “I'm gonna get rid of the ghost."

  “What?"

  Eddie laughed. “Creasy Green said the house was haunted by the schoolteacher who used to own it."

  “You didn't tell me that."

  “Come on, bitch, get your ass in gear,” he said as he opened the driver's side door. “There's no such thing as a ghost."

  Greta hung behind as they mounted the front steps. Eddie turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open. The rusty hinges creaked as the heavy door slowly revealed the dimly lighted interior of the living room with dusty sheets draped over furniture.

  “I ain't going in there, Eddie."

  He grabbed her arm and yanked her inside, stepped over the threshold and closed the door. “Boo!” he shouted as the hinges ceased their groaning.

  She screamed and threw herself against the door, blindly groping for the doorknob.

  He laughed, pulled her away and snapped on the light switch. “Hey,” he said. “The lights work. It's nice and warm in here too.” He pulled her dress over her head. “I like to watch you work in your underwear,” he sneered. “Hell,” he said when he dropped his eyes to her crotch. “You pissed in you panties."

  “I'm scared, Eddie. Please don't make me stay here."

  “Get ’em off,” he demanded. “You'll work naked today.” He removed her brassiere as she pushed down her panties. “There are no ghosts,” he said. “You pull the sheets off the furniture while I bring in the cleaning stuff we brought."

  She didn't mind working naked. She liked the fact that Eddie admired her body and she was even more pleased to show it off to him than she had been in the past to strip for her customers. She carefully folded up the sheet covering a sofa and was pleased to see the crisp floral design of the sofa fabric. The same design was on the two recliners she uncovered. She heard Eddie depositing mops, buckets, brooms and the vacuum cleaner on the front porch as she uncovered a coffee table, two end tables, a bookcase and a beautiful long piece of furniture that housed a TV set, VCR, cassette and CD players and a radio. She guessed the speakers were in the ends of the furniture covered with dark brown cloth. She needed to toss the sheets on the porch and get the cleaning materials, but it was cold outside and she was nude. She listened, but did not hear Eddie. Not wanting anyone who might be passing by to see her nakedness, she stood beside the double window and craned her neck so she could peek outside. The truck bed still contained their boxes of clothing and other personal effects. Eddie was nowhere in sight.

  She turned on the light in the kitchen and pulled off the cover from a pile in the center of the room, revealing a large table with six chairs stacked on top. She glanced at the dust-covered floor, stove, refrigerator, sink and counter and shook her head. She opened a cabinet door and smiled at the sight of an array of pots and pans. She went into the bedroom and tried the light switch. Nothing happened. We need to buy some light bulbs, she thought. There was sufficient light coming through the window for her to remove the furniture coverings. She thought the bed was beautiful. She leaned over and pushed her hands into the mattress, testing its softness.

  “Boo!"

  She screamed and dropped to her knees, cowering.

  “If you pissed on the floor you'll lick it up with your tongue,” he said as he approached her.

  “Don't do that, Eddie,” she whimpered. “Where the hell have you been?"

  He picked her up and pulled her to him. “I walked around the back. There's a shed out there with an old car and other stuff in it and there's a creek that runs across the back of the property. You've always said you wanted a vegetable patch. Close to the creek is an area that looks as if the old lady used it for a garden. You can grow anything you want to.” He kissed her left nipple and tossed her onto the bed, pushed down his pants and wedged her legs open. He grunted when he ejaculated and headed for the bathroom. She followed.

  “Oh,” she exclaimed when he turned on the light. “This is beautiful."

  “The old gal enjoyed a few luxuries,” he said. “That's a Whirl Pool. You're gonna like that."

  “What's this?"

  He laughed. “Sit on it,” he instructed. “Now, pull the handle."

  “Oh,” she said with a delighted squeal.

  “It's called a bidet,” he explained and he chuckled when she pulled the handle a second time.

  While Eddie brought in the cleaning supplies Greta returned to the dimly lit bedroom and slid open the closet door. She pulled a string and the closet light came on. The schoolteacher's clothes filled the large enclosure. When she touched a dress, a shiver ran up her spine. “Lady,” she said aloud, “Please don't haunt me. I'll take good care of your house. I promise."

  “Hey, bitch. Come here."

  She followed the sound of his voice and found Eddie in the second bedroom.

  “Would you look at all these books and papers,” he said.

  Noting the desk and typewriter, Greta said, “She must have used this room as an office or something."

  “Looks like it,” he said, blowing dust off a book he pulled from a shelf. “Nothing in here is likely to be of any interest to us. Clean up the other three rooms. We'll just keep this door closed until we get time to burn this junk."

  As she quietly closed the study door, she again felt a cold chill. “I won't let him burn nothing,” she softly whispered.

  “You get started in the living room,” he instructed. “I'm gonna check out the basement."

  Minutes after turning on the vacuum cleaner there was a knock at the door. She hesitated. The knock sounded again, louder this time.

  “Answer the damned door,” she heard Eddie demand through the open basement door.

  She quickly searched the room and spotted her dress. Hastily she threw it on as the knock sounded a third time. She switched off the vacuum and opened the door.

  The grim faced uniformed man touched the end of his broad brimmed hat. “Deputy Cranfield of the Mecklenburg County Sheriff's Department, ma'am. I'm looking for a Mr. Edward Crow."

  “Come ... come in, officer. I'll get him.” She started down the basement stairs, but the cobwebs stopped her.

  “What is it?” Eddie snarled.

  “There's a deputy looking for you."
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  “Damn,” he said, but he made no further comment until he was in the living room.

  “I'm Eddie Crow,” he said as he approached the deputy. “You wanted to see me?"

  “Yes, Mr. Crow. I'm Deputy Cranfield with the Mecklenburg County Sheriff's Department. I'm investigating the shooting of Bobby Elliott."

  Greta gasped.

  “I heard about that this morning. How can I help you?” Eddie asked, trying to show no emotion.

  “Mrs. Dottie Frank told me you were in her diner very early this morning. Creasy Green said I could probably find you moving into your new home."

  “Afraid we have a lot of cleaning to do before it's livable, but have a seat if you like."

  “That won't be necessary. Since you were in Dot at the time of Mr. Elliott's shooting, I wonder if you noticed anything unusual?"

  “No, I didn't. To tell you the truth, I was half asleep until I got some of Dottie's coffee in me."

  “You were in Dot so early because..."

  “Because we are moving today. I needed to get oil in the tank, the furnace checked out and the electricity turned on."

  “None of those places open until eight o'clock."

  “I was excited. I woke up early and came on to Dot so I could be the first customer and get on with it."

  “I see. You have a high powered rifle in the back of your truck."

  “Yes. That's not illegal."

  “It has been recently fired."

  “Isn't there a law against going through people's private stuff without their permission or a court order or something?"

  “Do you have something to hide, Mr. Crow?"

  “Hell no. Look at anything you want to. I sure as hell didn't shoot Bobby Elliott. I hardly know who he is. I think I met him once. Isn't he a black dude about fifty feet tall?"

  Deputy Cranfield did not smile. “Your rifle has been recently fired,” he repeated.

  “Yeah. There were a couple of big rats in the yard when we drove up."

  “Would you show me the carcasses?"

  “Wish I could. Fast little bastards. I squeezed off two rounds, but I missed them."

  “I see. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Crow.” He tipped his hat to Greta and departed.

  When the door closed behind the deputy, Greta hissed, “That's why you left me in Charlotte this morning. You killed him, you bastard."

  His open hand caught her jaw before she finished speaking. “You keep your damned mouth shut or I'll shut it permanently. He's not dead yet, damn it, but he isn't expected to recover."

  Eddie stripped off Greta's housedress and squeezed her left breast painfully. “Get busy, bitch. I want this place livable by the end of the day."

  He carried a broom to the basement, illuminated by a single bulb, and knocked down all the cobwebs he could find. One by one, he opened the large cardboard boxes and found them all filled with old clothes and other items he considered useless junk. He stacked the boxes in one corner and then studied the area behind the furnace.

  The daydream returned, but this time there was a three-year-old curly haired boy tied against a beam support, watching in terror as Eddie striped, beat and brutally raped his mother.

  When he returned to the living room, Greta was polishing the entertainment center cabinet. “Ain't it pretty?” she asked.

  He watched her buttocks undulate as she continued her polishing effort. “Let's see what we have here,” he said. “Have you seen a remote control?"

  She shook her head.

  He pushed her aside and snapped on the TV. It crackled and popped and then a picture emerged. “Damn,” he said, “it isn't color. Thing must be a million years old."

  “It has a good picture, though."

  He nodded. “May as well watch the news. You get busy on the bedroom, bitch."

  “Eddie?"

  “What?"

  “Please don't call me a bitch."

  “I'll call you any damn thing I like, bitch. Now get busy on the bedroom."

  “The light's burned out in there."

  “Well, stupid, put a new one in."

  “We ain't got a new one."

  “Go look in the kitchen. Your ghost probably has some spares in one of the cabinets."

  He stretched out on the sofa as a commercial ended. He watched a news story from somewhere in Florida. A tiger escaped from a zoo and had been roaming a residential neighborhood. There was footage of the authorities cornering the frightened creature and sedating it with a tranquilizer gun.

  The sofa was very comfortable and Eddie felt himself drifting off to sleep. The next news story was about some idiot getting caught passing counterfeit twenties. Then the announcer droned on about a couple of teenagers in Charlotte who were arrested for shooting people in their buttocks with a toy dart gun.

  His eyes popped open as the news stories meshed in his subconscious. Turn a toy dart gun into a tranquilizer gun, he thought, and Sandra Dollar's ass is mine. He jumped up and pulled the plug on the vacuum cleaner so Greta could hear him. “Didn't find a bulb?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Anything else we need?"

  “We ain't got no food."

  “I'm going to Charlotte. I'll pick up some light bulbs and grub while I'm there. I want this place spotless when I get back."

  As he cranked the ancient pickup he thought, Wal-Mart will probably have the toy dart gun, but where the hell am I going to find a powerful tranquilizer to coat the darts with?

  When he reached the Old Charlotte Road he accelerated and visualized Sandra Dollar walking down a lonely path, holding her little boy's hand. He'd pop the kid first. She would panic and bend over to see what was wrong with the boy. That's when he would pop her in the ass. He grinned and wiped spittle from his mouth with the back of his hand.

  Chapter Four

  The lanky lady with short brown hair edged her black, red trimmed Blazer between a faded brown pickup truck and an ancient Plymouth. She looked at the unlighted neon sign being erected in front of the mostly glass building. Korner Kafe, she read. What a gaudy sign and ridiculous name. Should have been Korner Kitchen, she laughed to herself. She tightened the lace on her left brogan, adjusted her red baseball cap, opened the door and hopped to the pavement.

  She pushed through the double glass door, pulled off her cap and shook her head. Her hair fluttered like the fur on a dog shaking water from his coat, and then settled down as if she had carefully groomed it. As she replaced the cap, she observed at least twenty people standing in line waiting to see the man seated at a table, whom she guessed was the owner. Instead of getting in line, she surveyed the rather large dining area and wandered behind the counter. Hearing noises in the kitchen she looked through the opening and saw a sweating, heavyset bearded man trying to lift a box from the floor to the wood table in front of the grill.

  She hurried into the kitchen and grabbed one end of the box. “Let me give you a hand with that,” she said.

  Eddie Crow looked at the face with no makeup and heavy brown eyebrows and nodded. As the box rose from the floor Eddie was aware that her end was being lifted much more easily than his."

  “What's in these boxes?” she asked as she looked around the brightly-lighted kitchen.

  “Dishes, pots and pans, stuff like that. I need to wash them before putting them away. Name's Eddie Crow. Has Mr. Bennett already put you to work?"

  She extended her slender hand and the strength of her grip surprised him. “Maggie Skinner,” she said. Her smile weakened his knees. “Mr. Bennett is the owner?"

  “Yeah,” Crow replied. “George Bennett.” He nodded towards the dining area. “He's interviewing prospective employees and I just assumed that's why you are here."

  “It is,” she said. “I saw the ad in yesterday's Charlotte Observer. Looks like I should have gotten here earlier."

  “The turnout surprised me,” Crow said. “Mr. Bennett pays good wages, like the ad says. I guess that's why he has so many applicants.�
�� Eddie ran the edge of a box cutter across the sealing tape and pulled open the flaps revealing six rows of plain, white dinner plates. He started removing the plates and stacking them on the table.

  Maggie rolled up the sleeves of her flannel shirt, picked up a half dozen of the plates and carried them to the dishwasher. As she bent over to load the plates into the bottom drawer of the washer he thought, Can't tell if she has much of an ass or not. Wonder why she wears such loose fitting jeans? He began to laugh.

  “What's funny?” she asked as she picked up another stack of plates.

  “Never saw a woman wear brogans before."

  He watched her bend over again and, as she approached him, he observed there was little indication of breasts—yet there was a definite, undefined swell in just the right area of her shirt. As she bent over to help him place another of the heavy boxes on the table he tried to look down her shirt and realized her breasts were flattened against her chest by a white, tight-fitting tank top.

  “I appreciate the help,” he said with a smile. “Maybe you should put on an apron and a hair net. You'll find both in the walk-in closet,” he said with a jerk of his head.

  Maggie nodded and headed for the closet. He quietly followed and when she was inside he swiftly placed his hands on her buttocks and pushed her against the wall. He pinned her in place with his body and moved his hands to her chest.

  “You have a nice ass and a decent set of tits,” he said into her ear. “You ought to show them off. You be nice to Eddie and Eddie will see to it you get a job."

  He felt her relax and he moved his hand down her flat stomach. As his fingers tried to slip under the large brass belt buckle, her bony right elbow smashed into his rib cage. He jumped back in pain and surprise. Too late, he tried to prevent her knee from finding its mark between his legs.

  He dropped to the floor and rolled on his back with knees bent, gasping for breath and clutching his groin. She pressed the brogan on her right foot against his throat and applied pressure.

  “Say you're sorry,” she hissed.

  “I'm sorry,” he wheezed.

  “Tell me you are a worthless piece of shit."

  “I'm worthless."

  She pressed harder.