c. 2025 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(5-25)
Townshend Lincoln was happily disconnected from his rural, trailer enclave. He stayed distant and drunk throughout the year, as a defensive posture. But also, because it allowed him to be busy with things that mattered. He had little interest in following the pace of daily life in his run-down environment. Particularly with the drama of impoverished folk swirling around him, constantly. At Evergreen Estates, hardship and paranoia were facets of existing that permeated everything and everyone. Jacked-up trucks and firearms brought a sense of empowerment to his fellow residents, but this veneer of strength meant nothing when viewed critically. All of them, as a group, were outcasts that had been dumped in a giant wastebin. They were offal, valued at zero by the outside world. But it did not matter. In the prevalent fog of booze and diesel fumes, there was safety.
Sadly, the impulsive visitation of Beau Bloch exploded this happy calm of inebriation.
Lincoln groaned and farted loudly, while rocking sideways on the wooden bench nestled in his porch.
“Lizzie? Whodafugg? I don’t know anyone by that name!”
The Cleveland kid tweaked his nose, which was itching.
“Lizbeth Ann Lavender. I work with her at a newspaper in Cuyahoga County. That is, I did until she was fired. Or maybe I ought to say, she fired herself...”
The shaggy loner was puzzled and amused.
“Fired herself? That’s a quite trick!”
Beau looked lost and somber.
“She never told us much about living in this park, but I know she inherited a residence here from her grandma. Next door to you, she said? Apparently, she didn’t trust anyone, but you were civil to her...”
Lincoln shrugged and grinned. His beard reeked of stale beer and burritos.
“I don’t know, maybe. Ask around here and people will say that I’m a crabby old asshole. But I keep to myself. I stay in my lane.”
The tattooed youngster brightened with hope.
“See, that’s the thing where I live, too. We believe in diversity, inclusion, that sort of vibe. You do you, and I’ll do me...”
The reclusive hermit scratched his facial hair, which was white and gray.
“That’s great, but why come here looking for her? I don’t know shit. I don’t care about shit, and frankly, I don’t give a shit!”
Beau nodded and sat on the edge of a railing by the access ramp.
“I’m trying to find out where she went. Did you see her recently?”
The contrarian drunk realized that his next-door neighbor had not been home in more than two weeks. Her longbox hovel was empty, and silent.
“I don’t pay attention to details around here, okay? I’d rather be ignorant than nosey!”
The Queer Conundrum staffer seemed to go pale, while pondering a lack of helpful clues.
“I caught your property manager on the way in, and she said no one paid the lot rent this month. Dana is her name? She was very feisty! A spicy Latina!”
Lincoln chortled and took a swallow of brown juice from his bottle.
“Yeah, that’s an accurate description. She collects the payment checks every month. Otherwise, things stay quiet here. Quiet for a gawdamm junkyard village, I mean!”
Beau Bloch scrolled through notes on his cell phone.
“She had talked about hitching a ride on the underground railroad, the new variety. There have been several students who dropped out of class, and decided to move north, to Canada. It’s tough to live here in the states, anymore...”
The disabled oldster was surprised by this reference to history.
“Railroad? What the hell, man? Like smuggling runaway slaves to freedom? You’ve got to be kidding!”
The young visitor shook his head and whistled.
“No joke, dude. Things are really stirred up by the lake. ICE agents trying to hunt down undocumented workers, churchy types protesting drag shows, even a cavalcade of pickups rolling through the heart of our city. She wanted to just get out, and escape, you know? There’s too much tension in the air right now. And here you sit, in the middle of a Tesla horde! This country has turned to crap!”
Lincoln stared at his reflection in a window by the front door.
“A new Underground Railroad? What the fuck?”
The college nerd fiddled with his pierced ears.
“I thought you might have seen her leaving. Perhaps gotten a glimpse of what happened. She has always been a good friend, we just disagreed on her Model 3, the Elon Musk Swasticar. I don’t know why she held onto that piece of trash! I would’ve crushed it like a Taco Bell wrapper!”
A flash of revelation struck Lincoln with the energy of a lightning bolt.
“A little Tesla? Not one of those gawdamm Cybertruck rigs? Yeah, I saw it here a couple of weeks ago. She sold it I think, to Rottie around the corner. He picked it up after wrecking his Honda. I heard it went for a few hundred bucks. Must’ve been a big loss. Personally, I wouldn’t want it though, even at a bargain price! Not because of the DOGE connection, I just don’t need a wheeler that gets plugged in at night!”
Beau was stunned.
“So, maybe your neighbor might know what happened? That’s fantastic! I’ll go talk to him right now!”
Laughter echoed, as the obliterated alcoholic gestured with his bottle.
“Take it easy, kid! They evicted him two days ago. I’ll bet he’s living out of that car now, somewhere in Painesville or Willoughby. That might be where I end up, if they finally shut down this garbage pit!”
The QC volunteer closed his eyes and groaned softly. He had run into another dead end.
“She must be in Toronto by now. I didn’t jump quickly enough. Maybe I should’ve gone with her, who knows. I’ll never know, apparently...”
Lincoln belched so forcefully that it rattled the glass of his storm door.
“She was number nine in the skinny hut next door. People have moved in and out of that trailer ever since I came to the park. It’s been 23 years now, a lifetime of shit. Residents going bankrupt, or getting dragged away to jail. Some just running away. You ever watch ‘The Walking Dead?’ This is our version. People with no stable family, no education, no money, no hope. Dammit, people with no souls!”
Beau had tears in his eyes. He had become an empty shell without his journalist soulmate.
“You sound a lot like a character written by Steven King...”
The swooning retiree lifted his liquor in a prayerful tribute.
“As God is my witness, that’s what I wake up to, every morning! Call me lucky! That’s my life in this shithole heap! That is Evergreen Estates!”
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