My name is Not Important and it’s been eight hours since my last homicide.
When they came to the door, the old man was on his spinbike and he was watching a movie. A riveting film yet one left time for your mind to wander. Against The Sun, true story about three Navy airmen lost and out of fuel in the middle of the Pacific. No food, no water. Rescued thirty-four days later, the story happens in between. A story of strength and luck and tenacity and hope. A tale of survival. Hell, that was the story of his whole life. Story of most people. Most of us just aren’t lucky enough to get jumped on by a shark.
And some of us are the shark.
All the old man knew about sharks is sharks had to keep moving to stay alive.
It wasn’t his fault. Really, it wasn’t. A couple days ago, wife napping, ballgame on – his team winning, bet covered – dogs sleeping, beer nearby, just a lovely Sunday afternoon. And then canine chaos, woof! on my God woof! Somebody seems to be breaking into the lanai. Bubba Roy was shaking the screen door like he couldn’t believe it was locked. Why would anybody lock his doors?
Bubba Roy wanted to know if the old man would like to buy some of his artwork. He is a bit of an artist – self-taught – and well, what do you think? The old man thought Mrs. Draughn down the street might be missing a couple of outdoor ornaments from her backyard tiki hut. This one is me, he said, the other is my mother. Some things cannot go unseen.
What’s the ruckus, Mr. Sweetie? his wife asked. That’s what she called him. He hoped she wouldn’t make him watch a movie on Lifetime. But let’s face it, the day the old man planned, a double-header and a six-pack, that day was dead.
Apparently, Gisele had found the body as she was heading out to a Bingo for Singles meeting. They like to start early in case somebody gets lucky. Apparently, Bubba Roy had wrapped a length of leaf blower cord around his neck, looped it over a hoist and leaped off a wooden Taste-Lee box. Apparently.
The papers said there was a note but its contents were being withheld by the family.
The old man told the deputies all he could. He hadn’t seen anything. He didn’t hear anything. He didn’t know anything. And, of course, he would be happy to help in any way he could.
He could help. Just couldn’t help himself, couldn’t stop himself. Couldn’t help the door was unlocked. Couldn’t help Bubba Roy was passed out drunk and there were all those dangerous tools and a wooden milk box. Couldn’t help if the guy was so unhappy.
Maybe the old man could help move the furniture back into Giselle’s house. Maybe now she could have her special plumbing handyman visit again soon.
Maybe he could have some damn peace and quiet. A chocolate chip cookie would be good about now. Just one.
Or two.