Trailer Park Victory Chapter 17: Interlude

 

c. 2025 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(1-25)

 

 

With another mass of Arctic air on its way to the American Midwest, residents of Evergreen Estates were busy preparing for the most dramatic drop in temperatures seen in Ohio for decades. Wind chill readings would soon be charted in double digits. But before that wintery assault, an odd, two-day pause appeared. Sunshine and a brief foray above freezing had the park feeling oddly festive for the middle of January.

 

Libby Raal had scribbled many pages of notes during her interaction with Townshend Lincoln, the contrarian recluse from Geauga County. But this temporary break in the weather pattern gave her an unexpected opportunity to gather more information. On a whim, she warmed up her Toyota Prius, and set out for the rural township where her project had begun. With luck, she would be able to cross the distance between Lake Erie and the isolated township, gather more evidence and inspiration for her work, and return home before nightfall.

 

Lincoln took the warm embrace of Mother Nature as a sign that he should celebrate with refreshments on his front porch. So, after his morning ritual had been completed, he sat outside on the wooden bench made by neighbors from reclaimed timbers.

 

He had already managed to slug down three or four shots of brown liquor, when the journalist femme appeared in his driveway. The eco-friendly clatter of her tiny vehicle caused him to raise an eyebrow, and lean sideways for a better view.

 

“HEY! WHATDAFUGG? IF YER SELLING SOMETHING, ALL I BUY IS BEER, PIZZA, AND MAYBE GIRL SCOUT COOKIES! OTHERWISE, GET THE FUCK OFF MY LOT!”

 

Ms. Raal smiled and shook her head while slipping out of the driver’s seat. She wore a gray and purple hoodie, with the Queer Conundrum crest embroidered on one side.

 

“Link! Don’t you recognize me? We were just talking over the phone, yesterday!”

 

The drunken loner swished bourbon through his stained teeth.

 

“What, yer that lady from the newspapers? Back here again? Damn, I didn’t figure ya to be such a glutton for punishment. Nobody ever comes out this way unless they got an eviction warrant from the court, or a wrecker to repossess a car...”

 

Libby stroked her fuzzy mass of dyed hair, and gathered a satchel full of notebooks and writing instruments.

 

“This was just too tempting, a sunny day in the middle of winter storms! I need more background research for the piece on my desk. Nobody else will open up about this trailer community. You’re my primary contact. Come on, give me a half hour. I’ll take anything. I want to write something that’ll save my career! Anyone willing to print it is my hero!”

 

Lincoln burped a wet splash of beer and leftover Taco Bell.

 

“I don’t know shit about this dunghole! What help can I give?”

 

The roving reporter sat on his side steps, and took out a pad and pen, from her stash. Her piercings glistened in the sharp, solar rays.

 

“I can’t find much about your property on the internet. Who owns it now? Where do you pay your rent? Does it usually get maintained well, or neglected?”

 

Suddenly, the bearded hermit lost his edgy, hillbilly brogue. He narrowed his eyes and spoke with a tone of sobriety that was unusual for having already been drinking since before noon.

 

“Who owns this dump? That’s a damn riddle, I’d say. We’ve changed hands so many times. One of the Jonovic family had put together a group of financial wizards. She headed the takeover, supposedly...”

 

Raal scribbled with her left hand. Excitement made her giddy.

 

“Jonovic? What, is that a wealthy brood out here in the country?”

 

Lincoln chortled to the point of passing wind. He was astounded by the naïve zeal of his visitor.

 

“JON-O-VIC! JON-O-VIC! THE MILITIA BLOODLINE! GAWDAMM, I THOUGHT YOU GREW UP OUT HERE, SOMEWHERE!”

 

The professional wordsmith was jolted by her contact’s vehemence.

 

“Oh, yes, okay... I remember now, Jonovic. There were sisters and cousins here before, right?”

 

Her subject scratched at his shaggy face, and nodded.

 

“Ezzie was the one that killed herself. Miss Esmeralda. The girl that took ownership was younger. Everleigh, maybe? I get them confused. She disappeared sometime over the last four years. There were more investigations, more FBI raids, that kind of crap...”

 

Libby felt her eyes growing wider. She jotted notes so quickly that her fingers turned numb.

 

“What happened then? Who gets your rent money, now? Where does it go?”

 

Her interview target huffed to himself, while thinking. He wanted more to drink.

 

“Some bunch of lawyers called Pacific Investment Partners. That’s where the park manager sends our checks. I never heard of them before. There’s been so many names, so many shell companies, it’s a con game. The county commissioners can’t figure it out. Nobody really knows. Somehow, this place stays open. I keep expecting the lights to go out and the entrance road to get blocked off...”

 

The Cleveland correspondent stroked her tattooed arms.

 

“Okay, on another subject, what is Aimes Hefti in this development? A maintenance man? A security guard? Or what?”

 

Lincoln stiffened at the mention of that name, spoken aloud.

 

“HE’S A FREAKING ASSHOLE! A SMALL-DICKED PIECE OF CHICKEN SHIT! IF HE COMES AROUND HERE AGAIN, I’LL GIVE HIM ONE OF MY DISABILITY CANES ACROSS HIS MOUTH! SCREW HIM AND THE PATRIOT BRIGADE!”

 

Ms. Raal tingled with shock.

 

“That guy doesn’t have an official title? I mean... he accosted me on my first visit here, I didn’t like his rough manner! Not a friendly dude!”

 

The alcoholic retiree grinned at her description.

 

“HE’S WHAT I WOULD CALL A CANDYASS! YOU SAID ROUGH? NAH, THERE’S NOTHING ROUGH ABOUT AIMES, EXCEPT MAYBE HIS UNIFORM TROUSERS ON A BARE ASS! HE’S RUNNING COMMANDO, I BET! WITHOUT HIS SENTRY DETAIL, HE’S JUST ANOTHER LOUDMOUTH FUCK IN A RUN-DOWN NEIGHBORHOOD! A GUN NUT WITH NOTHING IN HIS OWN HOLSTER!”

 

Libby had only filled two or three pages with notes. She needed more to complete her assignment. Yet the flow of available facts had slowed to a trickle.

 

“This park has such a reputation! There are so many stories about it being slated for demolition, put under supervision by the local sheriff, hit with legal orders, put behind barricades, watched by television cameras and surveilled with helicopters and vans full of listening devices. But I don’t see anything like that now. It’s dirty and disintegrating, you know, falling apart at the seams. But not the center of extremist activity that I expected!”

 

Her host shrugged and coughed phlegm from his throat. Once again, he sounded like a son of Appalachia. But his voice rattled with quiet desperation.

 

“Maybe ya don’t see it ‘cause it’s hidden? Or maybe it was never really so bad as people thought? I don’t have a clue. What I do know is yer gonna be damn disappointed talking to an old wreck like me, about anything. I don’t know shit! Staying lubricated is how I survive here. Otherwise, I’d have get the fuck out! And I don’t have the bucks to go anywhere, but flat broke! Like Stone Cold Steve Austin said, ‘That’s the bottom line!’”