Trailer Park Victory Chapter 18: Opportunity

 

c. 2025 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(1-25)

 

 

After his interview with Cleveland journalist Libby K. Raal, Townshend Lincoln felt exhausted. Yet his offering of conversational recollections did not produce anything truly noteworthy for the professional scribe. When she exited for a return to her home base, it was with a meager collection of notes jotted down in her files. She still faced an insurmountable task, one of creating a useful document from a sparse weave of lyrical threads. One that was unlikely to satisfy her superiors at the Queer Conundrum, or the Plain Dealer.

 

For the drunken iconoclast, what followed was darker in nature. He fell asleep on the couch in his living room, with the front door completely ajar. Cold temperatures kept the household furnace cycling in a desperate attempt to make things warm. While he snorted and snored and sputtered on the oversized pillows, drool soaked his camouflage hoodie. He rolled left and right, trying to get comfortable. A trickle of phlegm made his shaggy beard damp. Moonlight streamed through the glass storm-door panes. And finally, there was a crunch of bootheels falling in the ice and snow.

 

The thermometer outside registered 19 degrees, as Aimes Hefti and his neighborhood accomplice, Linn Speck, strode up a wooden access ramp, to confront the alcoholic loner in his fit of inebriation.

 

Lincoln spewed snot while slumbering. He dreamed of opening another brew from his stash.

 

Aimes holstered his shooter upon finding the front entrance unlocked and open. He boldly made an entrance with his right fist raised, in anger.

 

“HEY MOTHERFUCKER! GET YOUR ASS UP! THIS IS JUDGMENT DAY, GAWDAMMIT!”

 

The ornery hermit remained unconscious. He was knocked out, loaded, and unaware of visitors having arrived.

 

Linn shook his flabby jowls and stomped across the threshold dramatically.

 

“Come on, you wasted layabout! Get off your rear!”

 

Their victim continued to groan and growl while drowning in inebriation. He did not verbalize anything that could be understood. But instead, belched in his sleep.

 

Militia leader Hefti clicked his heels together, like a Gestapo recruit. He had no patience for someone so lazy and drunk.

 

“YOU OLD FART! WE SAW THAT YOU HAD ONE OF THOSE LESBO ACTIVISTS VISITING FROM DOWNTOWN! THAT’S A CRIME IN THIS WORLD, YOU KNOW? ANTIFA, BLM, EARTH FIRST, THEY’RE ALL THE SAME! THOSE PROTEST KIDS DON’T BELONG OUT HERE! THIS IS GOD’S COUNTRY! GOD, GUNS, AND TRUMP!”

 

Speck saluted with a vertical flash of his right arm. He stood straight and stiff, like a soldier from old Berlin.

 

“You don’t belong here! You never belonged here! Your type doesn’t fit our way of living. We love Jesus and America, and dare I say, the next president of these United States!”

 

The obliterated alcoholic was surfing on waves of a cerebral disconnect. He could not open his eyes.

 

“Uhnnnnnn...”

 

Aimes batted the helpless loser across his chin, with a clenched paw.

 

“THERE YA GO, ASSHOLE! HOW’S THAT FEEL? I GOT PLENTY MORE WHERE THAT CAME FROM! Y’ALL CAN GET READY FOR ONE HELL OF A BUTTWHIPPING, IT’S MY GIFT TA MARK YER TREASON, TALKING TA THAT BITCH FROM THE COMMIE BRIGADES!”

 

Lincoln was visibly rattled. His cheeks reddened after the impact.

 

“Uhnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn...”

 

Linn tingled with amazement over seeing his adversary in the park being treated so rudely. But it caused him to feel excited.

 

“Do you think he knows what you’re saying? That poor schlub is hurting...”

 

Commandant Hefti swung his arm again. He knocked the booze hound off of his plush perch, and onto the carpet.

 

“We’re about ta swear in a new prez, dumbfuck! Y’all ought ta be paying more attention. Yer miserable life don’t count fer shit here, it never did! Especially with a new day dawning. I’d drag yer carcass outta here, but it wouldn’t be worth the effort. I’d feel better hauling a bag of trash than carrying yer old butt ta the curb! Screw being correct or polite! This is the limit, man! Fuck yer attitude, yer family, and yer friends, if ya got any! Fuck ‘em all!”

 

The contrarian recluse vomited down his T-shirt, without ever waking. Wet crumbs of Taco Bell burritos and pizza stuck to his belly. The stench soon permeated every cubic inch of air in his living room. It raised an odorous cloud of mist that spread across the ceiling.

 

Speck clenched his teeth with disgust. Being a religious zealot in their development did not insulate him from a sense of complete revulsion. He wanted to run for the front door.

 

“GOD HELP US! THIS MAKES ME FEEL PHYSICALLY SICK! I’VE GOT TO GET OUT OF HERE!”

 

Aimes drew his pistol for a second time. He held the weapon backwards, and whipped it at his enemy, with a slash of metal and reinforced armorplate striking the target across his jaw. There were no more bullets in the chamber.

 

“Fuck you! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!”

 

Advocate Speck was amused by the zeal of his neighbor.

 

“THAT’S RIGHT, LOSER! FUCK YOU!”

 

Lincoln rolled on the carpeted floor, wildly. At last, he had begun to awaken from his netherworld of inebriation. He spoke with the clarity of sobriety, returning.

 

“Heyy, what’re you doing in my house? This is messed up, gents! I thought it was a fucking dream or something!”

 

Hefti kicked at his chin with a thick-soled, combat boot. This pro-wrestling move actually shook the entire trailer on its concrete slab.

 

“DICKHEAD! Y’ALL ARE A GAWDAMM JOKE! WE’RE HERE BECAUSE WE RUN THIS SHITSHOW! UNDERSTAND? LINN’S RESIDENTIAL ASSOCIATION, AND MY PATRIOT ARMY!”

 

The swooning oldster could feel his insides heaving again. He needed to void the remaining contents of his stomach.

 

“RAWWWWWWWWWWW!”

 

Organic debris splashed everywhere. Rolling sideways, he farted to offer an exclamation point to this putrid display of defiance.

 

The overfed, community organizer had reached his limit of endurance. He turned toward the front door, which was still standing open. Then bolted through the entryway.

 

“I’M OUT! I’M OUT! SEE YOU LATER, COMMANDANTE! I’LL BE BUSY HELPING TO MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!”

 

Aimes reluctantly holstered his sidearm, and stomped both feet with disappointment. He had wanted to leave his opponent more beaten and bruised. Yet the momentary encounter would have to suffice.

 

“Freaking coward! We could’ve had a lot more fun here! But that’s how it goes, right? At least we taught this stupid son-of-a-bitch a lesson today!”