c. 2026 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(10-26)
The drive south from Lake Erie, back to Evergreen Estates, was a lonely experience for T. C. Lincoln. After years of feeling that he was stuck at the junkyard oasis, having his home set ablaze by Linn Speck had given him a measure of freedom. A prize that he could never have imagined earning on his own. And yet, weeks of living in his Econoline van had taken a physical toll on his body. He was sore and stiff, groggy from not being able to sleep soundly, and grouchy due to a limited diet of truckstop coffee, and hot-rolled frankfurters. He wanted to dive deeply into a pool of alcohol, as was so often the case on his porch at the trailer park. But his mood did not match that kind of celebration.
As a resident of the mobile-home village, he had been familiar enough with his surroundings to feel strangely comfortable. Now however, he had to stay vigilant when on the road, or locating a convenient spot to park his homemade camper. Potential threats were everywhere. A kind of paranoia kept him perpetually on his toes, seeking to preserve his anonymity.
The offer from Dana Alvarez of a refurbished longbox at her rural enclave had turned his stomach, at first. He reacted darkly to this unexpected sales pitch. Yet with the winter season approaching, and his wallet empty, logic drove him to reconsider that option. Once again, he was in survival mode. Not thinking of pleasure for himself, but simply about being able to endure under harsh conditions. He had no funds to afford fuel for a long-distance trek to Florida, during the blustery months that lay ahead. And little interest in digging out his vehicle, when snowfall buried the rig where it sat. So, the choice he had to make was obvious. Though it still soured in his belly like the residue of a bad meal.
When he arrived at the maintenance garage, and main office, his intended contact had already left for the day. This break in tradition rattled his nerves. But an underling who he did not recognize passed along a single envelope, with lease forms to be signed and a set of keys. That official gesture signified his reentry into the community, without any fanfare. When he beheld the replacement dwelling on his former lot, it appeared to be a budget model from the Schult line of manufactured products. Plain, narrow, and unadorned with frills or accessories. Though in principle, it had a similar amount of living space to the shack which he had occupied, before. A small porch was inset by about six feet, at the middle of this construction. Since his wooden bench had perished in the fire, he would have to cope with a steel, folding chair, for the moment. Otherwise, the prefabricated shelter had no furnishings inside. And no services for water or electricity in place. This would mean sleeping in his hauler for a few more nights, until some bargain could be struck to get household amenities, on credit. But it gave him a foundation for going forward. Also, roots of a metaphorical sort, to keep him grounded.
After surveying the location, he returned to his camper for a cooler of cold beverages, and snacks procured at a Dollar General on the hilltop. But as he stood in his rented yard, scanning the street, a commotion distracted him from taking a break. The sound of a diesel truck, belching a plume of black exhaust, shook the earth. Shotgun blasts filled the air, along with a siren and commercial horn. The lively sound of a Country ballad, blaring loudly, buzzed window glass in every direction.
Aimes Hefti barked through a loudspeaker mounted on the roof of his Chevy Silverado. He had a rifle across the seat, and a handgun holstered at his side.
“YA DUMB SON-OF-A-BITCH! I HEARD Y’ALL WERE GONNA MOVE BACK INTO THIS PARK! BUT I COULDN’T BELIEVE IT WAS TRUE! GAWDAMN, THAT’S SOME MAJORLY MESSED UP SHIT RIGHT THERE! HOW STUPID DO YA GOTTA BE, FER COMIN’ BACK WHERE YA ALMOST GOT BURNED TO DEATH? THAT’S AN IDIOT’S BEHAVIOR, DUDE! YA GOT NO EFFIN’ BRAINS, THAT’S FER SURE!”
Linn Speck was close behind, walking on foot. He had a facial expression of confidence and superiority. Though his bald scalp was dripping with sweat.
“Link, your presence isn’t welcome here. I don’t know what kind of deal our property manager made with you, but it can’t be worth coming back to a place where you don’t belong. Think about this! You’re dirty and cranky, and combative as a general rule. We like to keep things on an even keel here, conflict and dissent just makes for trouble. We don’t need trouble in our neighborhood, do you understand?”
The weary hermit leaned on his disability canes for support. He had not intended to interact with other people so soon.
“Speck, you’re full of shit! We’ve got trouble in this dump almost every day. Folks not paying their bills, having family disputes, getting loaded or stoned, or stranded when their rusty cars break down on the way to buy more beer. I listen to the noise of fights and howling dogs, and ruined mufflers, constantly. You are a pretender, living in a fantasy world. This development is a rathole! But, it is also a place where those of us who are down on our luck can get a second start. That’s what I’m here for, to set up shop and thrive on my Social Security income. That’s what I was doing before my original trailer went up in smoke!”
Aimes climbed down from the seat of his lifted pickup truck, and drew the military sidearm. He did not appear to be in a friendly state of mind. His face glowed in a flushed shade of crimson. The pistol gleamed with a metallic sheen of violence.
“MY PARTNER AIN’T GONNA SAY IT STRIAGHT OUT, SO I WILL! WE DON’T WANT YER ASS HERE! TELL THAT SKANKY BITCH AT THE OFFICE THAT YA CHANGED YER MIND! GET OUTTA HERE WHILE YER STILL IN ONE PIECE! OTHERWISE, SOME HEAVY SHIT IS GONNA GO DOWN, PRONTO!”
Lincoln was exhausted from chilly nights spent in his van. He gestured with one of the disability canes, while urging both opponents to act on their deadly intentions, and end his suffering.
“Look guys, I’m old and crippled, and out of patience. My joints are shot and full of arthritis. I can’t see to read anymore, and the only thing that keeps me going is a good swig of bottled-in-bond bourbon. I don’t want to get sent to a hospital or a nursing home. So that means being stuck here in this park, instead! If you really want to play cowboy shoot-em-up right now, then let’s get it done! Pull the damn trigger! Split my skull and set me free!”
The mismatched duo felt their courage beginning to wane. Neither of the men had expected an actual confrontation. Now, there was a literal standoff in progress. One that could only be finished with a blast of ammunition, or a public surrender to the contrarian figure.
Linn shuddered visibly, and folded his hands. His flabby jowls were sagging.
“You can’t be serious, Link! That gun is loaded, and Mr. Hefti means business!”
Their adversary leaned forward, and hardened his gaze.
“PULL THE DAMN TRIGGER ALREADY! DO IT AND QUIT WASTING TIME! YOU’RE A GAWDAMN HARDASS, RIGHT? WELL THEN PROVE IT! SHOOT FIRST, AND THINK ABOUT IT LATER! SHOOT TO KILL! SHOOT TO KILL... ME! DO THE DEED!”
Aimes felt his right arm go limp. He could see that they were being watched by impulsive spectators, up and down the street. Men, women, children, and grandparents of all kinds.
“Awwww, ya dumb ol’ bastard! Yer a head case! I ain’t gonna snuff ya right here in broad daylight! I wish y’all had died in that damn fire! Now we’ll never get rid of yer flea-bitten carcass! That’s a freakin’ shame, bro! One-hundred percent!”
The evening temperature dropped quickly, once sunset arrived. More fumes were dispersed as the jacked-up Chevy disappeared, and quiet returned.
Lincoln sat on a milk crate, inside of his Econoline. His first day back at Evergreen Estates had concluded. What awaited in the weeks and months ahead was certain to be challenging. But at last, he was home again, and on his familiar slab of concrete.
Now, it was time to drink.
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