NOVEL FROG 5: There Was Nothing Left to Bury!
I staked out Paw Paw’s Pickin’ Orchard for two days.
From the outside, it looked like any other massive, idyllic plantation home. It was three stories high, with big white columns in the front and a balcony that wrapped around the house’s entire perimeter. Hedges perfectly trimmed to look like apples sat on either side of the stairs leading up to the front door.
I scoped the place out from the comfort of a tall oak tree. It was tall enough that I could see almost everything. People trickled in and out constantly, through the front and the back, but none of them looked particularly menacing; it was a lot of families with small children or old people holding hands – which made me fucking sick for some reason. There was a road that led from the woods into the backyard of the house, and trucks that advertised “Paw Paw’s Apple Cider” on their sides came and went. I sat in that tree for twenty-four straight hours and didn’t see a damn thing out of the ordinary. Worst of all, I didn’t see any signs of Mickey.
I needed to get closer. That night, I climbed down from the tree and twisted my torso to crack my back. It was stiff as hell after being in that tree for so long, and it popped like bubble wrap – shit felt amazing. A cider truck was parked behind the house, and I took up residence underneath it. Nothing happened for hours at least. I started to wonder if that bison-headed prick had given me bad information until a black Escalade pulled up to the empty orchard at the break of dawn.
Two men came out of the car. The driver was a pale, pie-faced dude with freckles covering his nose. The other guy had a much more chiseled jawline and a set of small eyes that went too far into his head. They both went to the back of the car and opened the trunk. A tarp covered the entire back half of the vehicle, and Mickey sat on top of it, covered in blood.
“Sorry guys,” Mickey said. “I didn’t mean to make such a mess.” He got out of the car and shook his hands, spattering blood on the grass.
“Don’t worry about it. At least we don’t have to bury anyone. There was nothing left to bury!” the pie-faced man said. “Now hose yourself off. You smell like shit.”
The two men went into the house, and Mickey took off his clothes and began spraying himself off with a garden hose. He was right there, alone. I could take him out right now. Or could I? I didn’t know what he was capable of, but it was enough to completely obliterate a person – or more than one person. He’s clearly working as an enforcer for the Futrells. I squinted in the faint morning light and saw that his mark had spread up his entire arm and wrapped around his shoulder. He was beyond me. I wasn’t convinced in the slightest that slime would do a damn thing against him – but maybe a bullet would. I pulled the gun from my pants, as quietly as I could, and pointed it at him. It was far away, and I’m not a particularly good shot, especially while I’m lying under a truck. If I tried to shoot him, I probably would’ve just hit the house and pissed off everybody in a ten mile radius, so I put the gun back in my pants.
Mickey was done washing himself, and the sunken-eyed man came out and threw him a red shirt and a pair of jeans. He put them on and went inside, carrying his old bloody clothes with him. I lost my chance, so I was going to have to make a new one.
I rolled out from under the truck, got up, brushed the dirt off of myself, and walked up the stairs into the big house, right behind a young couple pushing a set of twin babies in matching strollers. The entire first floor was a gift shop, with all of the useless apple-themed garbage a person could ever want – apple keychains, apple t-shirts, apple mugs, you name it. There was no sign of Mickey though, or the two men he was with, which was to be expected. I looked around the shop, pretending to be a customer.
“Sir, can I help you find anything?”
A bubbly teen girl sat behind a circular counter in the middle of the gift shop. Her smile was wide and gummy. Usually, people get nervous when they see a bum in a store. They know we don’t belong in places like this. If she was nervous, though, she was good at hiding it. She looked positively delighted to see my disheveled ass.
“Just lookin’ around,” I said and turned away from her.
“Are you Mickey’s friend?”
I paused for a moment, then turned around and approached the counter.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I said, “but we know each other.”
“Gus?” she said.
“...yeah,” I said. I didn’t like where this was going.
“He’s been waiting for you,” she said. “Come with me.”
She came out from behind the counter and gestured for me to follow her. She led me down a narrow hallway to a maintenance closet that she punched a code into and unlocked. It swung open, and there were mops and brooms hung up on the left wall and a shelf of assorted items – lightbulbs, toilet plungers, and cleaning supplies – at the back. She pulled me in and closed the door. Once the door was closed, she tapped on the bottom of the shelf in a rehearsed sequence, and the entire back wall moved to reveal a set of concrete stairs that went so far down that it was impossible to see where they ended.
“You can take it from here. Mickey will be in the second room on the right. He’s excited to see you. Have a nice day!”
She smiled that gummy smile again and walked out of the closet. I had no idea what I was going to be met with at the bottom of that staircase, but I started down them anyway. I was pissed. Mickey must think he’s hot shit now, inviting me in like this. He’s always been a cocky son of a bitch. He must be absolutely un-fucking-bearable now. I couldn’t stand the fact that his mark had grown so much more than mine. I couldn’t stand the fact that he had all of these goons hanging around him. I don’t know how he always got so lucky. Odds are I was walking straight to my death, and then he’d have something else to brag about.
But I’m sure as shit not gonna make it easy for him.
I felt like I was a mile underground when I finally got to the bottom of the stairs and saw the long concrete corridor. Jesus, these people sure love to fucking walk. I found the second door on the right; it was made of dark-stained wood and had a bear carved into its center. The smell of cigars wafted from behind it. I put my hand on the knob and twisted, and Mickey sat there, on a suede couch, with a cigar in his mouth.