Cesspool

by Phil M. Williams

  “Come on, Kurt. The camera’s not mine. I have to return it.”

  “I don’t give a fuck whose it is. It’s mine now, motherfucker. Hand it over.” Kurt pointed the Glock at James’s face.

  James frowned and picked up the camera on the passenger seat. He opened the memory card slot and popped out the tiny plastic disk.

  “What the fuck you doin’?” Kurt asked.

  “Do you really need this?” James asked. “It has pictures from my friend’s wedding.”

  “But then I gotta take my time and my money to get another one.”

  “Fine.” James handed the camera to Kurt in his right hand. As he handed him the camera, he motored down his driver’s side window with his left hand, still holding the memory card.

  Kurt snatched the camera. “Don’t touch the window. What the fuck you doin’?” The memory card slot was open. “I said gimme that fuckin’ memory card.”

  James chucked it out the window into the woods.

  Kurt shook his head. “Dumb motherfucker. You better bring me a memory card on Friday. I’ll stop by your class to pick it up.”

  And he was gone. James bent over the steering wheel and rubbed his temples. He lifted his head and pounded on the steering wheel. “Fuck!”

  He grabbed the flashlight from the passenger seat and opened the door. He shone the light on the ground in front of him before he stepped out, in the unlikely event that the memory card had bounced back. He used a systematic approach to his search, moving inch by inch, starting at the car and working toward the woods. After three hours of fruitless, freezing-cold searching, he saw a flash of purple. James snatched it up with a huge smile and shoved it in his pocket.

  “Yes!”

  He grabbed his laptop from under the seat, slung it over his shoulder, and started walking. He hiked close to the woods, to lessen the possibility of being spotted from the road. This was unnecessary as he didn’t see a single car. An hour later, he walked up his cabin driveway, his face and feet numb. The lights were on. He unlocked the deadbolt and entered the cabin. Brittany rushed to the front door, her eyes bloodshot.

  “Oh, my God,” she said. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” James said, as he stepped into the warm cabin. “What time is it?”

  “It’s after three.” Brittany checked her burner phone. “It’s 3:25. I was freakin’ out. You said you’d be back by one at the latest. You left your burner phone here, so I couldn’t call you. I almost called your regular cell, but I knew you’d freak about leaving evidence.”

  Stacks of envelopes and Avery labels were on the kitchen table along with James’s Buck knife. Brittany made James some tea while he explained what had happened. Brittany sat down, her hand on her chest, her eyes wide.

  “We’re fine,” he said. “Everything’s still on track.”

  “But he saw the Hyundai.”

  He exhaled. “I know, it’s not good, but it was dark, and he didn’t take down the license plate. The car is pretty nondescript, besides I’m not sure we have time to get rid of it and find another car. We’ll have to risk it.”

  “What if he goes through your phone?”

  “There’s nothing there. That’s why we have the burners. I do need to get another burner to call Yolanda. I don’t want her to be connected to the ones we’ve been using.”

  “Do you think he believed that you were really there for meth?”

  “I don’t know. I think so. I think if he knew I was watching him, he would have killed me.”

  She put her hand over her mouth.

  “It did teach me a valuable lesson,” he said. “We need a good backup copy of our data. I almost lost the pictures. He didn’t know about my laptop under the seat. What if he would have stolen that? I need to make a copy of everything. The information, the audio, the pictures, everything. I’m going to keep a copy hidden on me at all times. That way, if they catch on and raid the cabin, we’ll still have everything.”

  “Information is power,” she said.

  He nodded and glanced around the table at the stacks of envelopes. “You didn’t touch these without gloves, did you?”

  She frowned. “Of course not. I spent about seven hours on ’em today, and I’m only maybe halfway through. And that’s just stickin’ on the addresses. We still have to prepare the paper with all the information that we wanna send. And we have to copy it, fold it, seal the envelopes, and put all the stamps on … five thousand times. I’m worried that we don’t have enough time.”

  “Let’s do the math. If each one takes a minute, that’s five thousand minutes, divided by sixty gives us about 83.33 hours. If we divide that by two, we each need to put in about forty hours.”

  “That’s in addition to everything else. We only have six days until they realize Harold’s missing, and you never know, they could figure it out sooner.”

  “I think a minute each is probably too long. If we get a good system down, with the folding machine, we could probably cut that by one-third at least. Worst-case scenario, we’ll take the letters with us and mail them from the road.”

  Chapter 16

  Chucky

  James and Brittany slept until noon. They returned to the scene of the robbery. They used a piece of plywood stuck under the drive wheel to get the Hyundai out of the ditch. They stowed the car back at Gil’s Storage.

  They spent the next four days working, tying up loose ends and completing mundane, but crucial, chores. Brittany wore latex gloves as she affixed addresses and stamps to 5000 envelopes. She listened to music on James’s laptop, humming along as she worked on the assembly line. The Buck knife sat on the table within her reach.

  James followed Chief Strickland on two occasions, but he never left the police station and went straight home after work. James spent the majority of his time on a computer at an Internet café thirty minutes away. He learned how to podcast and mix videos. He set up an e-mail account, a YouTube channel, a Facebook page, and a website. He hosted his podcast on Libsyn.com. Hosting and domain names were paid for with a prepaid credit card, purchased with cash.

  On his way home from the Internet café, he made a phone call with his new burner phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Yolanda. Sorry to bug you on a Sunday night,” James said.

  “James, where the hell have you been? I tried calling you. Your phone—”

  “My phone was lost. I’m in a bit of trouble up here, and I need some help.”

  “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I can’t really tell you everything, but I’m in a jam that I’m not sure I can get out of.”

  “What kind of jam?”

  “The kind you don’t want to be in.”

  “How can I help?”

  “Do you know any coyotes?”

  “What?”

  “A coyote. You know, the people who help you cross the border.”

  “I know what a coyote is, but what the hell do you need one for?”

  “To get into Mexico without papers.”

  “What is going on, James? You’re scaring me.”

  “I’m sorry, but it’s better I don’t tell you the specifics. Do you know a good coyote? One who won’t rob me blind and leave me for dead?”

  “You think because I’m Mexican I know a coyote?”

  There was a pause. “Well, yes.”

  She exhaled. “Well, I don’t, … but Cesar does. I’ll talk to him.”

  “Thank you. You’ve always been a good friend to me. Can I ask you for one more favor?”

  “You’re lucky I like you.”

  “You remember the girl I told you about?”

  “The one you helped with her GED?”

  “Yes, her name’s Brittany. She may have to leave here, and she has no family. If that happens, I was wondering if she could stay with you for a month or two until she gets settled? She’s really nice and helpful. She won’t be a burden.”

  “That’s fine. I just have to as
k Cesar, but I doubt he’ll care.”

  “Thank you. Can I call you tomorrow for the information on the coyote?”

  “Yes.”

  “Talk to you then.”

  James pulled into his driveway and turned off his phone. He entered the cabin, his head dusted with ice pellets. Brittany looked up from her assembly line on the kitchen table.

  “You didn’t get the copies?” she said with a frown. She wore frilly slippers and sweats.

  “I’m sorry,” James said as he hung his coat on the rack next to the front door. “I’ve been racking my brain, trying to figure out how to setup the letter so that it’ll cause an uproar. Not just around here but nationally. The problem is, I don’t think we have enough on them.” He ran his hand through his hair and sat across from her at the kitchen table.

  She set down a book of stamps and raised her eyebrows. “We’re cuttin’ it close on time, don’t you think?”

  “I know, but I have an idea. I think we should set up the MP3 recorder again at the diner tomorrow. Do you think you can do it one more time?”

  She nodded. “I think so.”

  “Just set it up early and stay away from them.”

  “I know. You think we’ll get somethin’ new?”

  James grinned. “If we give them something to talk about.”

  * * *

  “You want to take a look before I send them?” James asked. “This one’s to Dale.”

  Brittany set her book facedown on the kitchen table and scooched her chair next to James. She peered into the tiny screen on the burner phone.

  Kurt’s been a very bad boy—stealing from the family business. He must not have much respect for you or your dad. What’s this world coming to? You can’t trust anyone, not even family. I suppose the apple doesn’t fall very far from the tree. As bad as Kurt’s been, you and I both know you’ve been worse … much worse. And soon the world will know too.

  Hugs and Kisses ☺

  Charles Lee Ray aka “Chucky”

  Underneath the text were three pictures of Kurt shoving bills from an envelope to the front pocket of his jeans. In the background, vinyl lettering spelled out All-American Auto Parts on the door.

  Brittany laughed. “That’ll get ’em talkin’. Who’s Charles Lee Ray anyway?”

  James smiled. “It’s from the Child’s Play movies. You know? Chucky, the homicidal doll?”

  “I never saw that one.”

  “It’s actually pretty scary. That doll used to freak me out—I hope they don’t actually know someone named Charles Ray.”

  “I like how you signed it, hugs and kisses, with a smiley.”

  “Do you think they’ll appreciate the irony?”

  She giggled. “Do you have their cell phone numbers?”

  “I pulled them off Harold’s cell.” James tapped on the burner phone. “This is the other one, to the chief.” He put the phone in front of Brittany.

  “Fathers shall not be put to death for their sons, nor shall sons be put to death for their fathers; everyone shall be put to death for his own sin.” There are plenty of sins hanging around the Strickland family tree—hanging like dirty laundry that needs to be aired. Wait a second. I thought we weren’t supposed to air our dirty laundry? Don’t worry. You won’t have to. I’ll do it for you. It won’t be long now.

  Hugs and Kisses ☺

  Charles Lee Ray aka “Chucky”

  Underneath the text were pictures of Heather running into Dale’s cruiser, her vinyl-sided trailer in the background.

  “Are you gonna send ’em now?” Brittany asked.

  “I thought about waiting until right before they have their meeting at Dot’s, but they might get suspicious. I could do it now, so they’re less likely to realize that the diner’s unsafe. What do you think?”

  “That makes sense. Can they trace the phone? Are you gonna go someplace?”

  He nodded. “You read my mind. Thought I’d drive to the river, send the texts, and, as soon as they’ve gone through, I’ll ditch the phone. I’ll pick up another burner phone on the way back. In the meantime, we need to get our stuff packed and ready.”

  * * *

  His heart pounded in his chest as he pulled up to Dot’s Diner. The lot was deserted except for a couple employee vehicles in back. Brittany pushed through the metal-clad door with a frown. Shit. James’s heart pounded. She hopped in the truck.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I got it,” she said.

  His shoulders slumped in relaxation. “How did it go?”

  “They were mad when they came in. Even from across the diner, I could tell.”

  James nodded.

  Brittany continued. “I went in the back and had dinner. Rod let me have a long break again.” She frowned. “He made sure I understood that I was off the clock. Like our hourly wage is so awesome. I asked Jessica about the Stricklands. She said they stayed longer than usual, and, at one point, they were arguin’. Jessica told me that she had never seen them like that. Officer Dale didn’t even finish his food.”

  James glanced at her as he backed out of the parking space.

  She pursed her lips and gazed out the window.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I think Jessica’s mad at me,” she said to the window.

  James drove out of the parking lot. “What happened?”

  “Jessica keeps wantin’ to hang out, and I keep tellin’ her that I’m busy. I told her that I have to study to get into college. I could tell she thinks I’m blowin’ her off. I just feel bad. I really like her.”

  James glanced over again. Brittany had her arms crossed over her chest.

  “I know. I’m sorry,” he said.

  She took a deep breath. “It’s not like I can tell her the truth.”

  “No, you can’t. But she’ll know soon enough.”

  They entered the cabin, hung their coats, and rushed to the kitchen table.

  “You ready?” James asked.

  She nodded. He forwarded through the first few hours of diner noise. The good part started with a banging on the table, what sounded like one hard fist slamming down like a gavel.

  “Somebody’s gonna fuckin’ pay,” Officer Dale Strickland said.

  “It’s sloppiness, pure and simple,” the chief said.

  “Fuckin’ Kurt. I told you that he was a problem.”

  “No more of a problem than you.”

  “Me? I never took a dime from you.”

  “You’ve been takin’ somethin’ worse from your brother.”

  There was silence.

  The chief continued, “And what do you think shit like this does to business? You can have any goddamn whore you want, but you gotta fuck your brother’s girlfriend.”

  “Pops, I, uh—”

  “Shut your fuckin’ mouth. You will stop seein’ that little whore immediately, and you will make sure she understands how important it is that she keeps her trap shut. You got me?”

  “Yes, sir,” Dale said.

  “Where you been takin’ her?”

  “Motel 6 on the interstate.”

  “You ever take her to the stone hut?”

  “Come on, Pops. I know better than that.”

  “When was the last time you were there?”

  “Last week. Everything was where it should be.”

  “I’m thinkin’ we should move the money. This Charles Ray character knows too much.”

  “Pops, I told you. It’s from a movie.”

  “Goddamn it, I know that. We gotta call him somethin’.”

  There was silence, followed by Jessica taking their orders. They were curt and short and did not flirt.

  “Where’s the stone hut?” Brittany asked James, while the Stricklands were still quiet.

  James smiled. “I caught Dale there with his brother’s girlfriend and have the photographs to prove it.”

  “Any ideas who it might be?” Dale asked his dad.

  “It has to be someone local, som
eone who knows us well.”

  “One of our clients?”

  “I don’t think so,” the chief said. “We haven’t taken on a new client in years. What would they have to gain anyway? Without us, they’d have to deal with a department that might put ’em out of business.”

  “You don’t think Harold might try somethin’ like this?” Dale asked.

  “I don’t see the motive.”

  “Maybe for a ransom to stay quiet. Maybe Harold’s tired of livin’ in a trailer.”

  “Harold knows he could take a bigger role in the business if he wanted to. He’s never given two shits about money.”

  “Maybe Kurt saw the guy?” Dale said.

  James’s stomach turned.

  The chief grunted. “If he knew he was bein’ followed, you think he’d be stealin’. Hell he didn’t even try to conceal it. Your brother’s dumb, but he ain’t that dumb.”

  “You want me to handle Kurt?”

  “I don’t want you anywhere near your brother until you have some distance from that fuckin’ whore. I’ll handle it.”

  The men were silent.

  “Here are your drinks,” Jessica said as she set the drinks on the table. “Your food will be out shortly.”

  After Jessica left, Dale said, “I tell you what, whoever it is, is fuckin’ dead when we find out.”

  “I keep thinkin’ about that nigger doctor,” the chief said.

  “You think she’d dredge all that up now, after all these years?”

  “She was just another broke nigger back then. She can afford a good lawyer on her salary now.”

  “You think he was innocent?” Dale asked.

  “Hell no,” the chief replied. “Nigger was guilty as sin. He was escalatin’. Hell, I busted him for vandalism when he was a kid, assault a few years later, and breakin’ and enterin’ a few years before the first rape and murder. You were just a little shit at the time, so you might not remember, but, when the second woman was killed, people got crazy. We were havin’ a tough time denyin’ that we had a serial. An eyewitness placed Frank at the scene, and another placed a black man at the first murder but couldn’t ID Frank in the lineup. We thought we had the right guy and so did the public.”

  “What about that murder we had when I was a rookie?”

  “What about it? Had nuthin’ to do with Frank.”