[14] Roach Town

[14]

Detective Zone was a funny guy. Funny in a way that didn't make sense to anyone unless they knew him. Then he wasn't so much funny as he was odd. It was easy to see him as a two-dimensional character, if you looked at him from a distance. His marbling way of talking, his penchant for drugs and booze. His slender and tall and slightly stooped vulture-like appearance. He was easy to mock. Easy to dismiss. He had a very un-assuming way about him if you took him at face value. By looks alone. Or even first impressions. He was almost innocuous. Something to be ignored. Zone knew this. Everyone knew this. In fact, it worked to Zone's advantage about almost all the time. He had a way of disarming people. Making people think he was one thing when he was an entirely different thing altogether. He tricked people, in a sense, but not really, he didn't so much trick people as people tricked themselves by mis-calculating who they were dealing with. There were multiple instances of this in Zone's past. Both immediate and farther reaching. Of getting confessions out of the hardest, most suspect career criminals that had exactly zero love and respect for the police. And the game was a simple game. If you want to call it a game, because it was a very serious game with serious consequences, but the game went like this: The criminal, whether hardened or not, careerist or just a tourist in Zone's world, they would think Zone was a dum-dum, a real rube, with his lousy way of talking, his bleary, bloodshot eyes, his intermittent smells, either booze-related or lack of shower-related, and they, meaning the criminals, would dismiss him outright. Say things that they shouldn't say. Because, why not? It's not like this idiot has the faculties to understand how clever they were being, right? But no, they were wrong. Always wrong. Zone would catch something, always something, something that almost nobody would notice, something out of place, a misused word, a turn of phrase, even a useless detail that was irrelevant, or so it seemed, and he would glom onto it, pry it free, like the tip of a hair poking out from a festering sore. And there, with his tweezer like mind, he would pull it loose. Yanking the hair through the puss and the blood and the cracked skin, teasing the tickle out, he would find the end of the thing, and then like a forceps of justice, he would yank the thing from the follicle, letting all the other junk that was inside just ooze out into the light of day. To be exposed and studied. Maybe Zone was dumb. That is still up for debate, but if he was dumb, he was dumb like a snake is dumb. Just resting, waiting, staying cool, silent, collecting all the world around him, yet ready to strike at a moment's notice. For what you saw of Zone in the very canny world that we live in, there was another element to Zone that went un-noticed, that could only be seen by the lord above dangling in the heavens, Zone, here on earth, looked like he was just some weirdo, hopping around and causing trouble, but from a great distance you could see that Zone was actually under a giant rock, in a shady place, peaceful and mindful, taking it all in, protected and safe, maybe alone in the world, but he was surrounded by the things the Buddhists would call transcendence. He was not there yet, but he was very close. Yet if you had the fortunate position of sitting politic with our lord and savior Siddhartha, you would see him up in heaven cheering Zone on. Because Zone did something that was nearly impossible in Western Civilization, he was able to ignore the noise of society. Zone was a man that needed almost nothing in this world. And therefore, he answered to nobody aside from himself. And if you could see that, if you were somebody that had that ability, you would have a great respect for Zone. But nobody could see it, maybe Gagger, who knows what Gagger saw in Zone, Gagger was a sensualist, he merely felt the golden orb of Zone's soul, who knows if he was capable of articulating what he saw or felt, and that is not important, Gagger was not merely loyal to Zone, that notion is ridiculous, loyalty meant nothing to either of these men. Not because loyalty was repugnant, it was just that loyalty was an antiquated notion, and neither of them subscribed to such nonsense, had Gagger needed to throw Zone under the bus, Zone would understand, and at the same time that was irrelevant because both of them had such a striking moral compass that the idea of betraying a friend was a laughable thing. A true friend needs neither loyalty nor fidelity, because a true friend would never put you in the position of having to choose. Zone knew that if Gagger had to "Sell him out," in the modern parlance of things, he would have a pretty fucking good reason to do so. Zone knew that would mean that he had done something so abysmal that even Gagger couldn't let it go. And that was big. For him, meaning Zone, and big too for Gagger. Zone thought about this often. In a bemused and entertaining way. About what it would take for Gagger to turn against him. Because it was such a stupid thought experiment. Because it always came down to a simple question: What would I have to do? And because the nature of the thing was so anti-thetical to who Zone was in the first place, Gagger would know that something vile and basic had changed in Zone in the first place for him to do the thing itself that would cause this. Therefore, Gagger would not see the thing itself as a thing to deride Zone about, but more of a indication that something had gone terribly wrong. Meaning, Gagger would not immediately assume that Zone had done something wrong, but that Zone was forced to do something wrong that needed investigation. It was mobius thinking at it's finest. A maze without an ending. A labyrinth of metaphysical proportions. Zone was thinking about this as he was rocking in the cushioned rocking chair, listening to the woodpecker, smoking the Virginia Slim the reporter had given him.

He was wondering about the reporter. What she thought of him. Zone. How she had mentioned that he tasted like pears. That she had mis-understood that he was a detective. That she must have thought he was some sort of junky hanging out at some half-way house in Rochester, Vermont. Dangling around with grandmas. And that she had figured it out, and then came inside of Park House only to catch Zone whacking the mercurial stiffy. And then got rewarded with a chin-ful of cum. And instead of being repulsed, she actually liked it. He wondered if she had gone home to rub one out herself. What that would mean. Did she take her slacks off. Fold them carefully so they didn't crease. Did she pull back the bedspread and light some candles? Maybe pull a very slender and expensive vibrator from her bedside table? Or did she just drop her trousers to her knees, her panties rolled down with them, and then go straight to the clit? On top of the bedspread? Leaving a puddle of wetness that would leave a circle of dried, slightly white memoranda behind? This thought made him uncomfortable in his pants. He had to adjust his sitting. To let things spring loose as it were. But really what he was thinking about was how she had come around to Zone. What had changed. Zone couldn't imagine it was his naked body lying on the bed, his black socks on, his knees bent, dangling over the edge. Glistening from the shower. Working furiously on his shame worm. Zone didn't think that that would turn anyone on. Not that he was ashamed of his body or even that he didn't think that sometimes, if not always, sex was a thing un-knowable, maybe she got off on that sort of thing? It was possible. But that wasn't it. There was something else. Something different. Something that happened from the moment she had gone to her car and then snuck upstairs into the Park House that made a difference. Zone was baffled about it. There was no accounting for it. Either she came to her senses, or something else had swayed her thinking. Zone really didn't know what to make of it. His whole operation was based on the fact that people exposed themselves by how they treated him, meaning Zone himself, and to go from thinking Zone was a loser junky on some porch at some half-way house to telling him that his cum tasted like pears was a huge leap in logic. He wondered if maybe she was just lonely and maybe watching him whack off blew some cobwebs out, like maybe she just needed a vacation or something. Like a trip to some resort somewhere where she could have pointless, anonymous sex with a strange dude, come back to Rochester with an STI and then go back to her business as usual, or not. Zone thought it may be more complicated than that. But he didn't know. He had only been in town for a day. From what he saw though, the people were very odd. They all seemed like they needed a vacation. So maybe he wasn't that far off. But still. It didn't help that her last name was Sergeant. Which had some hefty implications. Zone decided he would call her up. See if she wanted to get a drink or something. Something normal like that. Maybe he would even give her some information about the murder. Why not? The paper was a weekly. He would be long gone well before the thing came out. Or at least he assumed that is what would happen. Captain Nylon would need him back in the city sooner than later. Whether the cure worked or not. Zone and Gagger were his best detectives. He wouldn't let them languish too long. Even if it became political suicide to bring them back early. The problem with Captain Nylon was that he was very lazy. And the thought of doing more work was probably driving him quite nuts at the moment. Zone laughed at this thought. Captain Nylon sitting at his desk, papers piling up, nothing getting done. Just meatheads coming and going, trying to pick up the slack, but being too stupid to make any progress. Yes, Captain Nylon was probably already drunk. His morning nip turning into a break nip, then a brunch nip, then a mid-morning snack. He would be taking a nap in few minutes, Zone was sure of it. Downstairs in the evidence tombs. The basement. Where it was cool and quiet and nobody ever came around. With the little room with soft things were left behind many years ago, during a renovation that destroyed nearly twenty years of "Clues." That Gagger had found one dreary day, hungover, the rain hadn't stopped for nearly a week, everyone was exhausted, broken, a serial killer had been causing mayhem on the Upper West Side, Gagger had gone down to get some artifact that Zone had been convinced was in the basement, and Gagger, being the opportunist that he was, he found this strange door, the one with the soft things, he went inside. The cool air and the soft sounds doing a siren thing, he laid down just for a second. To get his head right. And then it was lights out. And like all things Gagger, he couldn't keep it to himself, he told Zone and Captain Nylon. And that was that. They had their secret napping place. And that was a thing of beauty. It still is, to this day. Zone was convinced that Captain Nylon was sleeping it off as he sat there wondering about Reporter Sergeant.

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There is another thing about Zone that I should mention. He picks up on things on accident as well as on purpose. Which, for the most part, become a distraction themselves if it is important. As much as Zone would have loved to just sit there rocking in the cushioned rocking chair on the porch of Park House, thinking about the reporter going home and rubbing her bean, her name, Sergeant, was throwing up alarm bells like Salvation Army Christmas goons. Not so much that she, herself was a Sergeant, no, that fact lingered in Zone's mind like the slippery pre-come dripping down his thigh after his hard-on deflated. He had moved on in thought. He knew that he was off the case, as the police like to say, he knew he could just let things go and there would be nothing doing about anything. The State Police were in charge of the murder now. He wasn't even sure if he could investigate anymore. He was certain that Captain Sergeant would put an end to it had he found out that Zone was poking around in his business still. But it didn't matter. Zone knew that those fuckers were hours away at any given point. The fact that they were not in town at this very moment was telling. They were avoiding the murder for some reason. Zone didn't know why, but he could assume that it had something to do with the name Sergeant. Had he been running the investigation, Zone would have an army of police officers going door to door, asking all sorts of questions, but this seemed like a cover-up inchoate. The whole town was named Sergeant. Zone wondered if the murder victim was named Sergeant as well. With her roach tattoo and her bloody nose. Had he known that was true, Zone could have solved the mystery at that very moment. Rocking in that cushioned rocking chair. Smoking that slender cigarette that Reporter Sergeant had given him. But he didn't know that. He knew nothing of what was happening over in Middlebury. At the morgue. About Captain Sergeant sleeping on the couch that morning. About the cousin of Officer Lindsay being the victim. About Captain Sergeant being a cousin himself. About how this was all just a matter of facts. About who knew who and for what reason. No, Zone would have figured it out in short shrift for certain. But he did not have any of that information. All he had was this notion, this tiny idea that the hippy guy that drove the hearse may or may not have some idea about things. Zone thought back to when he was in the back of the hearse. After the hippy had slammed on the brakes and the body of the poor woman had crumpled into a pretzel in the back of the hearse. How afterwards the hippy had said he lived up on Townline road. That there was no way they would not be able to tell what place was his. That he would be there after taking the body to the morgue in Middlebury. Sometime later in the morning. Meaning today. Meaning now. Zone flicked the expired butt of the Virginia Slim over the edge of the porch balustrades. He stood up. He was now hyper-focused on talking to the guy. He walked around the corner of the Park House porch. Snuck inside. He assumed the grandmas were napping. He was not wrong. He snuck up the stairs. Got to the third floor. He could hear muffled screams. He opened the door to Bonny's room. Bonny had a pillow case tied coiled up and tied into her mouth. The naked pillow on top of the bed beside her. For some reason Zone thought this detail was the most egregious. The naked pillow. Stained with drool. He barely noticed that Gagger was pulling her hair like reins, Bonny's ass in the air. Her ankles somehow tied to the legs of the bed. Her tits flapping like weird nippled jugs. Gagger had his thumb in her butthole. The smell was very curious. Zone just stood there. Bonny looked over. For some reason Zone waved. Bonny waved back. Her hands weren't tied for some reason. That detail confused Zone. Why would you tie someone's ankles and mouth but not their wrists? I mean, if the idea was to restrain someone for sex reasons. Maybe she needed to do things with her hands that Zone was not aware of? Like grab some balls or something? Zone was about to ask when Gagger looked over and said:

"Dude, can't you see I'm busy?"

Zone said: "Oh, right! Make it quick, we should bail." For some reason Bonny pulled the pillow case down from her mouth.

She said: "You guys can borrow my car if you want." This gave Gagger grief for some reason. He pulled his dick out from Bonny's vagina. Zone watched it go soft.

Bonny yelled: "Don't stop now!" Gagger frowned.

He said: "Fucking Zone ruined it."

Bonny said: "Aw, c'mon! I know you got it in you! Saddle up!" Gagger started putting his clothes on. Bonny stayed put. Her ass in the air. Zone could see her butthole. This gave him feelings. Bonny noticed the feelings.

She said: "Wanna have a go there, Zone? I can see your designs." Gagger got annoyed with that statement.

He said: "Don't you dare." Zone pretended to unzip his pants. Gagger said: "Zone!"

Zone marbled: "What'd I do?" Bonny twisted herself into a pretzel and untied her ankles. She became suddenly very vulnerable. She grabbed the drool-soaked pillow and hid behind it. Covering her nakedness. Zone didn't know if he was being rude or not. He didn't care though. If he waited for Detective Gagger to get done with all the sex he had he would have to wait a million years because the shit was endless. Catching Gagger mid-flagrante was akin to catching him breathing. It really didn't matter. They could fuck later, there was no rush, the real rush was catching the hippy hearse driver before he got going again. Zone looked over at Bonny, who was slowly becoming very embarrassed as the sex was waring off. Zone could tell she wanted to be alone now.

He said: "Bonny, not to be crass, but do you mind if we borrow your car?" Bonny thought for a second. She didn't trust either of these guys with her car. Vermont was a state of bad roads and steep hills. She didn't mind Zone driving her car when she was fucking Gagger in the back seat, but in the light of day, she would rather these two maniacs not get involved with her tires and suspension. It was a very Vermont-thing to think. A thing generational. She was a Sergeant after all.

She said: "Take the van. The keys are on the seat." Zone finally became embarrassed. He hadn't realized how much of an imposition he had caused until now. He was just so used to Gagger's hijinks. Zone blushed.

He said: "Um, can you tell me where the Townline road is?" Bonny was ready for them to get lost. She spoke with an annoyance in her voice. This was compounded by a soft and angry yell coming from downstairs. From a grandma.

Who yelled: "Bonny! It's lunchtime!" Bonny grimaced.

She said: "Just go up the road to the turn-off for the greenhouse, where the murder was, and keep going, you'll find it."

A second grandma yelled: "Bonny!"

Bonny yelled back: "Coming!" Then she said, "These fucking animals! I'm at my wits end!" Gagger reached over and pinched Bonny's naked ass. She squealed. Zone and Gagger raced down the stairs. The grandmas were standing there. Looking up. Hungry and angry. Zone and Gagger pushed through like they were pushing through a bitter and violent swath of Winter rye. One of the grandmas grabbed Gagger's crotch.

She said: "Oh, a big boy, I like a big boy, come up to my room later." Gagger stopped for some reason.

He said: "What room?" Zone didn't know if he was joking or not.

Zone said: "Gagger, god-damnit! Keep moving!"

Grandma Lassider said: "I'll take my chompers out!" Zone had to push Gagger through the field of ancient rye. Gagger knew no bounds. He really didn't. As the door shut behind them they could here the grandmas yelling up the stairs for Bonny to come down and give them lunch. The noon-time air was warm and pleasant. Zone was glad to be out and about. Gagger was a little confused. He was over-aroused. He really was. The last twenty-four hours had come at him in an alarming pace. He needed a break.

He said: "Man, what the hell am I doing? I can't keep this shit up." Zone ignored him. There was nothing new to discern. They got into the Park House van. The key was on the seat. Zone got into the driver's seat. Gagger the passenger seat. Zone started the thing. Gagger lit a cigarette. Handed it to Zone. Lit one for himself. They started driving up the hill. Towards the greenhouse. Where the murder occurred. They paid attention to street signs. Not knowing where they were going. The road played out though, the way that Bonny Sergeant had said it would. Eventually they were on Townline road. The thing was dried dirt and bumpy. They could see mountains and chickens. Farms and cattles. As well as goats and farms. Zone drove slowly, keeping his eyes peeled. Gagger kept a look-out as well. They were lost in some wilderness of back roads on the edge of some weird town in Vermont. They assumed they would get to where they were going, eventually. For now, though, they just kept looking. Smoking. Slow times for an even slower thing that had a bigger meaning.