c. 2024 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(5-24)
Mama Molene Gant had sputtered while pleading for her former prodigy to rejoin the activist troupe in Cuyahoga County. Nothing she said seemed to have an effect. But a final thought turned the tide. As she reminisced about their exploits on the streets of Cleveland, a chilling observation spilled forth from her lips.
“You’ll be alone here, forever. Think about that, Dex! Alone in a field full of tombstones. Ohh, damn! Good hearts die out here, there’s no tolerance for diversity. Maybe we disagree right now, honey? I’m not so sure that ain’t just an illusion, but whatevs! Ya still belong with our tribe. We’re your fam, girl! Ya gonna regret spending another day in this dump. Trust me, I been around! I know the drill. Come home with me, right now!”
Darcy Trelane had to swallow hard. Guilt and alienation welled up in her throat.
“It’s true, Mama! I hate this effing trailer park!”
Her one-time mentor nodded and smiled.
“Of course ya do, woman! I bet a lot of these hillbillies do, too! This is a shithole. People don’t live in these boxcars by choice. They do it ‘cause they’re broke-ass mofos, with empty pockets and no hope! Come back to tha hood by Lake Erie! We gonna treat ya right!”
Her former pupil relented at last.
“Okay, Mama. Okay! But there’s paperwork to do, I’d have to meet with the property manager...”
Molene was adamant about making an immediate escape.
“NAW, SCREW THAT NOISE! PACK YA BAGS, WALK OUT THA DOOR, AND DON’T LOOK BACK! I’M NOT FOOLING, DEX! THIS TRASH HEAP GIVES ME THA HEEBIE JEEBIES! WE GOTTA RUN WHILE THERE’S TIME! OTHERWISE, WE MIGHT NEVER GET AWAY FROM THIS JUNKYARD KINGDOM!”
Darcy had her game system, T-shirts, and pajama pants. Otherwise, nothing else mattered too much. She stuffed everything into a duffel bag, and dragged it across the floor. A look of sad resignation made the corners of her mouth curl under.
“My dad will be pissed! And that old drunk across the yard, I’ll miss him in a weird kind of way...”
Her spiritual guide laughed and shook her long, gray locks in celebration.
“Ya gonna be better off, girl! I guarantee it! Yer soul will die out here, it needs some sunshine. We got plenty of that by the lake. Tha fam will be glad ta welcome ya home! Boo yah!”
Once they had squeezed everything into her Toyota Prius, getting on the road was an anti-climax. But as they pulled out of the property entrance, onto Pine Trail Road, a caravan of deputies from the Sheriff’s Department passed their tiny vehicle. Barricades were set up, quickly. Rifles and tasers were at the ready. Dogs and their handlers began to patrol the perimeter.
When the rambunctious horde of lifted pickup trucks rolled away from their township square, a mood of kinship united them in purpose. Everyone felt confident about their mission to put things right at Evergreen Estates. But upon reaching their destination, only a short distance down the hill, this confident bravado dissipated like morning mist.
Armed officers blocked their entry to the park. Not a single 4x4 hauler was given permission to cross the boundary lines.
Sheriff Tom T. Rath stood with a bullhorn in his hand. His weapon was still in its holster. The lawman was tall, beefy, and had the look of a military veteran. Yet his voice resonated with the diplomacy of a gifted representative.
“Go home, neighbors! This development is on lockdown, per our governor in Columbus. We’ve had student uprisings all across America, lately. He doesn’t want that kind of thing happening here. I’m not a decision maker, I just carry out instructions. I keep the peace! If people have something to say, let them speak freely. Maybe you don’t agree? I probably don’t, either, to be honest. But it’s not your right to interfere. There’s no fight on the frontlines, every one of us is a citizen of this county. If you’ve got a problem with that, then get out and vote against me, when the next election comes around!”
Linn Speck had walked over from his prime lot on the corner. When he heard the impromptu speech being delivered, it caused him to redden with anger and resentment. He thumped his chest and strutted like a rooster.
“LOCKDOWN? WHAT THE HECK, SHERIFF? YOU CAN’T DO THAT TO US! OUR TAX DOLLARS PAY YOUR SALARIES! YOU WORK FOR THE RESIDENTS OF THIS PARK! DAMMIT, YOU WORK FOR PEOPLE LIKE ME!”
Rath nodded with a somber expression. Radio chatter crackled in the background, from his receiver.
“Friend, you’re not wrong. But in this case, I’ve got to enforce what the governor has decided. He wants things to stay quiet. Quiet is good. As a matter of fact, I like peace and quiet, myself. There are things happening around the world today, some crazy things! But none of them affect us here in Ohio. Not like some want you to think. I don’t care where your family came from, or what you believe, it’s all good to me. Do like that old saying, ‘Live and let live.’ Don’t stir up trouble just to get your kicks. Get on your knees and pray for this state. Pray for the world! I’d say that right now, we need some good words said for everybody!”
The residents who had followed Linn from his driveway began to chant, spontaneously.
“AMEN, SHERIFF! AMEN! AMEN! AMEN!”
Their ambitious benefactor was not pleased by the tone of comity, and tolerance.
“WE NEED SOME LEADERS WITH A SPINE, NOT WIMPS CRAWLING ON ALL FOURS! LIVE AND LET LIVE? HAH! I HAVEN’T BELIEVED THAT KIND OF NONSENSE SINCE I WAS A KID IN GRADE SCHOOL! IT’S BULL-HOCKEY, SHERIFF! PURE BULL! WE’VE GOT TO FIGHT OUR ENEMIES, WHEREVER THEY ARE! ABROAD, OR RIGHT HERE ON THIS PATCH OF GROUND!”
The enforcement chieftain took off his hat, and held it by the brim. He stepped closer to his vocal opponent, and whispered so only the two of them could hear.
“Linn, I’ll say this one time. Don’t ask me to repeat myself. Stand down, or I’ll be taking you to a cell in the safety center. Does that resonate inside your thick skull? Stand down! Let this end on a good note. Governor Moerlein doesn’t want another shoot-em-up like during the Kent State protests about our involvement in Vietnam. Go back to your singlewide box! Go home to your wife!”
The rotund instigator felt his boxer shorts getting damp. He looked at the service weapon hanging on Rath’s duty belt. Then, at all of the deputies who were standing behind him, fully at attention.
From a distance, Townshend Carr Lincoln stood while leaning on his mismatched canes. He was shaggier than ever, dressed in work clothes that were stained with bourbon and chicken grease, and a baseball cap. He saluted and then closed his eyes.
“Big J, Holy Father, I thank you. Amen!”
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