He didn’t have time to get through the ‘u-e-l’ before the world exploded into twisted metal and shards of glass.
Lucky Ticket
When I woke, I didn’t know where I was. The room was dark and the bed didn’t feel like my own. Curtains draped across a window to my right were closed against the light of day, which still found a way to seep around the fabric. I tried to sit up, but a bolt of pain exploded from my head and ran down the length of my body. I tried to turn my head but couldn’t. I reached up to my neck and found a soft, stiff collar there. Another brace, plastic—not soft at all—covered my torso.
My face stung like somebody had jammed me headfirst into a hornet’s nest. I reached up and felt the bandage wrapped around my head. After a moment, I dropped my hands to my sides and explored the edges of the bed. My right hand brushed across a hard plastic handle with a button in the middle. I pushed it. The upper half of the bed rose, causing me excruciating pain. I released the button. My left hand found a bedside table and something resembling a remote control for a TV. It was attached by a cord to something else—maybe the wall? There was a single button on the apparatus. I carefully pressed it, ready to pull away if the bed started moving again. Nothing happened.
The door swung open and harsh lighting outlined a curvy female figure in the doorway. She took a step into the room. “Yes, Mr. Bradbury?”
Another flash of pain shot through my head. I closed my eyes against it and willed it to go away.
“Mr. Bradbury? The button? You pushed the call button,” the full-figured lady said.
I opened my eyes and she pointed to the table beside the bed.
“Where am I?” I asked.
She took another step toward me. “You’re in Midland Regional, Mr. Bradbury. You’re going to be okay.” She fixed a smile on her face.
“What happened?”
“You were involved in an accident.”
An accident? What kind of—wait…the truck! The truck hit us! “Where’s my dad?”
She paused, like she didn’t know what to say. Her smile fell from her face. “I’m going to get the doctor. He can tell you everything.” Before I could ask another question, she turned and exited the room.
A moment later, a thin man with even thinner dark hair entered. He wore a tie, a white lab coat, and a stethoscope around his neck, just like in the movies. “Mr. Bradbury, I’m Dr. Jensen.”
“Hey, Doc.” I tried to wave a hand, but my arm felt too heavy.
“Mind if I turn the lights on?”
“I don’t care.”
The doctor flipped the switch and the light tore through my eyes like burning spears.
“Turn ’em off!”
“Sorry,” he said. “Head’s still hurting pretty bad, huh?” He flipped the switch again.
“Yeah. Can I get something for it?”
“You bet.” He turned to the nurse, nodded, and she stepped out of the room. He dragged a chair beside the bed and sat down, taking a deep breath. “Mr. Bradbury, I’m afraid I have some very bad news for you.”
I said nothing.
He paused a moment before saying, “Samuel, your father was killed in the accident three days ago.”
“Three days ago? I’ve been in here for three days?” Shit! How the hell am I going to pay for three days in here?
“Yes, but did you hear me? Your father was killed.”
I searched for words, but nothing came to me. I gave the doc a blank stare.
“I understand this must be a horrible shock for you. Please know that we are here to help you in any way we can.” The doctor reached out, took my hand.
His hand was soft, not rough with calluses like my father’s when he slapped me.
“How did he die?” I had to speak the words softly so they didn’t assault my pounding head.
“Samuel, the truck slammed into his door. He took the majority of the impact. What do you remember about the accident?”
“It wasn’t my fault, right?”
“No, you had the right of way. The truck had the flashing red light, but it didn’t stop.”
“So my dad’s really dead?”
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Samuel.”
I wondered how Sheila had taken the news. “Where’s my sister?”
“She came in shortly after you arrived. She’s been in and out since.”
“Where is she now?”
“I saw her maybe half an hour ago. She was headed outside to get some fresh air. Said she’d be back soon. Shall I send someone to find her?”
“So what exactly happened?”
“You mean with the accident?”
“Yeah, with the accident.”
“You were hit by a farm truck.”
“I mean, what happened to my dad?”
“Samuel, I just told you. The truck struck his side full force. He didn’t have a chance.”
“Was he killed instantly, or did he live for a little while, suffering?”
“Thankfully, he was killed instantly. No suffering.”
I sighed. The doctor gave me a compassionate squeeze of the hand. If my head hadn’t hurt so much I would’ve laughed at his gesture.
“You didn’t see the truck coming?” the doctor asked.
“Obviously not, or I would’ve hit the brakes.”
“The driver was drunk. He ran the intersection.”
“Where is he?”
“Where he belongs. In jail. I’m quite certain he’ll be facing the most serious charges.”
So it ended like that for my dad—the victim of a drunk driver. Yet I survived. The Gods were watching out for me.
I wondered how much money I was going to get when I sued the drunk bastard who hit us. Somebody was going to pay for my three days in here, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be me. Maybe this was my lucky ticket out of here. Maybe my next stop would be Hollywood.
The Arm of God
The lawsuit produced nothing. Not a damn thing. The piece of shit farmer wasn’t merely an out-of-control drunk; he was also a big-time loser. His car insurance coverage had lapsed, his farm was in foreclosure, and his ex-wife—who had left him a couple of months before the accident—had cleaned out the meager remains of their savings. When questioned during the legal proceedings why he was drinking the day of the accident, he blamed it on the “bitch who took everything.”
It didn’t take long to figure out that my dad hadn’t been any better off. He had no life insurance, the second mortgage on his house equaled the value of the property, and his life savings, including the sale of all his belongings, was about four thousand dollars. Sheila and I split the money, which left me with a whopping two grand to get to Hollywood.
If I ever wanted to get out of Clemensville for good, I would need more than that. I would need to think big. Think bold. So I took a road trip to Las Vegas to get the hell out of town and maybe, just maybe, double my money. Or even triple it. Six grand? I’d have enough cash to cruise to Hollywood and rent a little apartment. Then I could start on my movie.
I’d never gambled before, but how hard could it be? Call out a number and color, pull a lever, or add your cards up to twenty-one. I’d heard of people winning hundreds of thousands in Vegas, even millions. I’d never been there, but I figured winning a few thousand dollars certainly wasn’t asking for too much. It wasn’t like it was going to break any of the casinos.
In hindsight, my plan was flawed from the start. My car broke down on the way there, and it cost me $300 to get it fixed—not counting the ninety-five bucks to tow it. Gas, motels, and meals added up to more than I thought they would. And I had no idea there were so many ways to lose money in Vegas. In a matter of two days, I barely had enough to get home.
Due to heavy road construction on I-40, I took I-15 out of Vegas and headed north before I cut back onto a two-lane hi
ghway that crossed northern Arizona and into New Mexico. Had I realized how many curves and twists there were in that road, I never would’ve taken it. I would’ve stuck to the interstate and waited out the construction.
I had just passed through Shiprock, New Mexico—a shitty little town known only for a popular landmass not far away. The sun was coming up. I had been driving all night long and was having trouble keeping my eyelids up. I really wanted to get home. I probably shouldn’t have been doing eighty-five on that narrow road.
Without realizing it, I had drifted off to the side. By the time I saw the woman, it was too late. She was standing beside her car, the driver’s side door open and the hood up. She was looking down and had a phone pressed against her ear. I slammed on the brakes and tried to swerve—honestly. I slid sideways and missed the lady’s car, barely. But she wasn’t as lucky. I took her out with the passenger side of my car.
I skidded to a stop maybe a hundred or so yards past her car. My heart was in my throat. I threw the car into reverse and backed to where the woman had been standing. I jumped out and searched for her. A pair of flip-flops lay by the side of the road, but the lady wasn’t in them. Where the hell was she? Maybe she was still alive. Then I saw her cell phone lying in the dirt. I picked it up and put it to my ear.
“Allie!” a frantic male voice screamed through the phone. “What happened? Allie! Are you there? Are you all right? Allie!”
“Oh, man,” I muttered. “Suck me sideways.”
This wasn’t good. Not good at all. Just my damned luck. I dropped the phone to the ground and stomped on it.
I turned around, trying to locate the woman.
Two bare feet stuck out of some tall grass several yards away. They weren’t even bloody; maybe she was just a little banged up. I ran to her. For being knocked right out of her flip-flops, she really didn’t look all that bad. Her face was pretty broken up, but that was about it for outward appearances.
I had been speeding recklessly. Not just a little, but a lot. If she was dead, and I was to get caught, there’d be no way I’d get out of this one. According to the TV police dramas I watched now and again, I’d probably be facing vehicular manslaughter. I didn’t have any money for a lawyer. And everybody knew the hacks the courts appointed didn’t care whether they got you off or not. They still got paid.
“Shit,” I said, shaking my head. I kicked her foot. “Hey, lady, are you all right?” She didn’t respond, so I kicked her harder. “Lady, wake up!”
Nothing.
Son of a bitch! Why does shit like this always happen to me?
Suddenly I received a message. A message from higher up. Call it an inspiration, or maybe enlightenment. Whatever it was, it had to be from Him. Or Them? This hadn’t been an accident. Way too big a coincidence. The lady just happened to be standing in the road? The exact stretch of road where I just happened to be driving, at the exact same time? Okay, yeah she was actually standing on the side of the road, but still…just a chance encounter? I didn’t think so. I looked down at her. Tilted my head.
“So what’d you do?”
She didn’t answer.
“Must’ve been bad, for this to happen and all. They sent me, the arm of God, to serve punishment. Swift and just.”
Still no comment.
“Let me guess: cheated on your husband, right? Adultery. That’s a bad one. Eternal tortures of Hell, lady. It’s just not worth it. Was that him on the phone? The boyfriend?” I paused. “You can’t hide your sins from the Gods, honey. They know. And they sent me.” It all made sense. The road construction. My choice to take this alternate route. All part of the divine plan. They had directed me.
They had given me a test and I passed with flying colors. The adulteress was punished. Cool.
It did leave a bit of an inconvenient mess on my end, though. I looked skyward. “Hey, how about a little help on the cleanup, you know?”
The Heavens didn’t part, a giant broom didn’t speed earthward and sweep everything up. I stared for a moment more.
“Fine. I’ll take care of it myself.”
She had been talking to someone on her cell phone. The boyfriend? Or hell, could’ve been the husband. He had probably just found a note that she was leaving him and wanted to know what the hell was going on. That’s what women did right before they left you. A note.
I kicked the woman’s leg. “You deserved this, bitch. He didn’t do anything to you. Just loved you with his whole heart. And you left him. Like the bitch you are.”
I needed to get moving. Whoever was on the phone was probably now calling the cops. I didn’t have much time. I scooped the woman into my arms. As I lifted, she bent in the wrong direction in several places, including her neck. Now I knew why she wasn’t responding.
I carried her to my car, dropped her to the ground, and popped the trunk. I took off all her clothes. Shorts, shirt, bra, panties. I don’t know why I did that. I just did. I stared at her naked body. It was nice. Really nice. I would’ve had sex with her if she’d asked. But she never would’ve asked. Girls that looked like her thought they were too good for me. Or they wanted money.
“Not so high and mighty now, are you, princess?” I asked.
I knew I was pressing my luck, timewise, so I picked her up and threw her in my trunk. I grabbed her clothes and shoved them under my car seat. I would get rid of them later.
I ran to her open car door and saw her purse in the front seat. I climbed in, grabbed her purse—with cash?—and her insurance and registration papers from the glove compartment. I wiped off the glove box with my shirt. I wasn’t leaving any fingerprints. I jumped out of her car and looked down the road each way. No traffic. I set the woman’s stuff on the top of her car, pulled the Uncle Henry from my pocket, and mutilated the vehicle identification number on her dashboard.
I pushed her car door closed with my knee, slammed the hood down with my elbows, and grabbed her stuff. I went back to my car to examine any damage done to it. There was a small dent in the passenger side door and some blood running down the paint. But that was it. With the bottom of my shirt, I wiped the paint clean.
The screwdriver in my glove box was the next order of business. I took off her license plates, careful not to touch the car, and dropped them next to the lady in my trunk. And then I got the hell out of there.
I figured the farther away I was before the locals had a positive ID on the car, the better my chances of avoiding getting caught. I just hoped she hadn’t been able to tell her husband where she was before I hit her.
I drove—jacked up on monster-sized cups of coffee and caffeine pills—the rest of the way home, never being stopped once. I went the speed limit the whole way.
I arrived in Clemensville later that afternoon. The first thing I did was set my alarm for three the next morning, and then I slept.
I burned her clothes in a trash barrel. Getting rid of the body was almost as easy. There were a lot of sinkholes just outside of town. A body could be dumped in one of them and not get noticed for a long time.
A Confused Look
I never did make my movie. After my dad died, and my divinely inspired but costly trip to Vegas, I continued working my landscaping business and barely kept the bills paid. The Gods should’ve reimbursed me for doing Their work out on that desolate stretch of highway. Would it have killed them to throw a few hands of blackjack my way?
When I married Carla, I put the movie dream away for good. I didn’t want to be told I was nothing but a dreamer, to get my head out of the clouds and my feet on the ground. But if I had made it, I know it would’ve been a blockbuster and my life would’ve taken a great big turn for the better.
It took me a while to let go, but I finally came to terms with my reality. Maybe I wasn’t going to be a famous moviemaker, but I sure as hell didn’t plan to spend the rest of my life in Clemensville, either.
And then a guy and his stupid dog finally came across the woman’s skeleton left in the sinkhole so long ago. The news crews showed up and everyone got paranoid.
Everything just kind of went to hell from there. The sheriff ended up finding Jenny’s body. Irene’s husband reported his wife missing. Her whereabouts were soon to be discovered. So, twenty-four hours after Sheriff Murphy’s second visit to my house, I returned the favor.
He lived in the ritzy west end of town, in an area I couldn’t afford. His residence was made public the last time he was up for re-election, when his opponent made a big deal about his “high-society living and forgetting about the common people.” The mudslinging was heavy and the challenger talked about Clemensville needing a man who was “one of the people.” A man who lived like everybody else, not in an expensive house that most others couldn’t afford. But it obviously bothered the sheriff’s opponent more than it bothered everyone else, because Melvin Murphy was re-elected by a pretty fair margin. He explained that because of his job, and his wife’s as an elementary school principal, they lived a blessed life. He said working hard and enjoying the benefits of their labor was not a sin, nor did it separate him from those whom he vowed to protect. He lived the American dream and would do whatever it took to ensure that others could live it too.
When the time came to repay Sheriff Murphy’s visit, I volunteered to drop Carla off at work. She had worked the night shift last night, and after Irene didn’t show up for work, she had to work Irene’s shift again today. She got in a few hours of sleep and then went right back to work. Carla bitched, but I saw it as a great opportunity for her to make a little more money. She was always complaining that we didn’t have enough. Women—they need to learn to make up their minds.
Carla assumed Irene must have had another doctor’s appointment in Midland and didn’t bother telling anyone. She called Irene inconsiderate. I told her not to be so quick to judge. “Irene was kind of forgetful,” I said. “Probably just a simple mistake.”
Carla stared at me, her head tilted. “What do you mean was? Was kind of forgetful?”
Criminal Zoo Page 16