c. 2026 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(6-26)
After being emasculated by the old drunk on his street at Evergreen Estates, Linn Speck took a predictable course of action. He ran immediately to their park office for the purpose of lodging a complaint with the property manager. But upon arriving at the office, he received a reaction that did not correspond to what was expected. Dana Alvarez was away dealing with a family matter, and in her place, a part-time employee of the owners who normally worked at a different site was on hand. He had been hired for routine maintenance chores, and had little interest in handling resident disputes or other social disruptions.
Bender Morcheski weighed around 300 pounds, packed into a burly, undersized frame of about five-and-a-half feet. He had huge limbs, and walked with a thud of heavy footsteps. Yet was gentle in his manner. Nearly quiet enough to be caught whispering in the midst of conversation. He preferred to stay busy with repair duties, digging trenches, mending leaky pipes, twisting frayed wires back together, and filling potholes in their streets with buckets of gravel. So, when the red-faced, former association leader began to pound on his door, there was no greeting of good cheer offered. He simply grunted from behind the used desk that had been bought at a neighborhood auction.
“Quit makin’ so much gawdamn racket, will ya? What the eff? Get in here and state yer case!”
Linn had sweaty jowls and a look of complete frustration.
“I WAS JUST ASSAULTED BY THAT DIRTY DRUNK AT LOT 13! ARE YOU GOING TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT OR WILL I HAVE TO CALL THE SHERIFF?”
Ben sat his smoldering cigar on the edge of a glass ashtray which had once belonged to a restaurant on the township square.
“Assaulted? How did that happen? Did that boozer crawl down ta yer trailer or somethin’? He can’t take a dozen steps without fallin’ over!”
The persistent agitator flushed with guilt, while reflecting on his ill-advised deed.
“Well no, I went to see him about trash blowing around in his yard. He’s a menace sitting there getting inebriated every day. Throwing cans and bottles around, belching, passing wind, listening to sports broadcasts on his cell phone...”
The maintenance man laughed until he was out of breath. Then, narrowed his eyes.
“You actually confronted that dude about his porch habits? Son-of-a-bitch! I didn’t think anybody ever went over there ta see him. Dana stays away, and I do too. We never see his family come ta visit. When I hear shit about his lot getting’ messy I’ll drive by in the golf cart we own, but I never see nothin’ there. Somebody is cleanin’ up that trash fer him. Or maybe it ends up at yer lot, on windy days? I don’t know and don’t give a damn, either!”
Linn began to seethe with rage.
“LOOK AT MY MOUTH! IT’S REALLY SORE! HE WHACKED ME HARD WITH ONE OF HIS CANES! I NEED HIM TO BE EVICTED IMMEDIATELY! OR ELSE THE SHERIFF CAN DO IT! EITHER WAY, IT’S UP TO YOU! SHOW SOME BACKBONE FOR A CHANGE!”
There was a pause that indicated disinterest in this plea. Then, the fix-it fellow stood up from his broken, roller chair.
“Mister, I ain’t in the mood ta be bullied. Dana handles shit like this, you’ll have ta take it up with her. I’m just here ta answer the phone and collect rent checks. Or should I say, collect my own check, I gotta do somethin’ useful around here ta get paid!”
The erstwhile community organizer slammed both of his flabby hands on the desktop.
“Thanks for nothing then! Thanks for absolutely nothing! I’ll call the sheriff on my own!”
Even before walking back to his home on the corner, Linn had dialed the number for their county’s top lawman. But once he had identified the alleged perpetrator, a wheezing sound of discontent filled his ear.
Sheriff Tom T. Rath took the call himself. He was not impressed with a vague description of what had transpired in the cluster of mobile homes, and barked a stern rebuke in response.
“Sir, you need to calm down for a minute. I can’t make sense of what you are saying. Was there some kind of home invasion where you live? Did someone break in? Was there a confrontation with other members of your family?”
The park instigator groaned and hesitated before attempting to explain his plight.
“Sheriff, I went to lodge a complaint about creating a public nuisance in our neighborhood. You see, there’s a hermit on my street who won’t socialize with others in our community. His name is Townshend Lincoln, and he looks like a refugee from the hills...”
Rath sputtered while stifling amusement. He wanted to maintain decorum during the call.
“T. C. Lincoln? That’s who you confronted? Well I must say that it explains a lot about what must have happened. He isn’t fond of receiving guests on his front porch.”
Linn was flustered and furious.
“YOU KNOW HIM, SHERIFF?”
The law-enforcement executive smiled while reflecting on memories of yonder days in their county.
“His parents used to live down by the high school, in our capital city. They were kind and respectful people. He’s a bit ornery by comparison, but never hurt anybody. Much less difficult to handle than his younger brother, who was a truck driver for several years. I’d suggest that you just leave him alone...”
This advice did not sit well with the frequent complainer. He huffed and stomped his feet while arguing for a different resolution.
“LEAVE HIM ALONE? ARE YOU KIDDING, SHERIFF? HE STRUCK ME ACROSS THE TEETH WITH ONE OF HIS DISABILITY CANES! I STILL CAN’T EAT SOLID FOOD! MY MOUTH WILL TAKE WEEKS TO HEAL!”
The department steward had to restrain an overwhelming urge to chortle out loud.
“You went to his lot for the purpose of stirring up trouble, correct? That puts you at fault. It is his castle, his home. His strip of land, at least for the lease term. Nothing would have happened otherwise. I know Link, he’s not one to become involved in a conflict on his own. That guy likes to get loaded on liquor, pass out on his bench, and call it a day. There are worse people to handle in this county, believe me. We’ve got methheads with mullets, militia types, amateur crime bosses coming out from Cleveland, and scammers using artificial intelligence. An old booze hound like Link doesn’t even register on my radar. Give him a wide berth, and stay at home where you belong!”
Linn could feel his pulse beating hard in both temples. He slammed the cellular device on his kitchen table. Then began to howl at his wife, who was in the living room with a glass of white wine, and a soap opera episode on the television.
“HAKI! PACK YOUR BAGS, HONEY! WE’RE
DONE WITH THIS PARK! IT’S TIME TO MOVE OUT OF HERE, FOR GOOD!”
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