A Dish Best Served Cold by William Quincy Belle

A Dish Best Served Cold by William Quincy Belle

Lonnie kicked a cardboard container, cursing as he stared at the various pieces of garbage around the bins lining the alleyway. He bent down and picked up two paper coffee cups, a candy wrapper, a plastic spoon, and several takeout bags. Was it too much to ask to open the bin and put the garbage inside? How lazy do you have to be to toss the garbage on the ground? In front of the bin, no less.

Raising the lid of a recycling bin, he peeked inside and winced at the overwhelming stench of rotting food. He turned his head away from an open pizza box containing several decaying slices and took a breath of fresh air.

God damn it! Why did Alex quit? This rental property was Lonnie’s retirement project, but that didn’t include being his own property manager. Any investment deserves professional oversight.

Lonnie dropped what he had picked up to one side, then pulled out the pizza box. Trying not to touch anything rotten, he transferred the putrefying food to the organic bin and put the greasy cardboard in the garbage. He shut the lid and peered down at the row of containers. How many times did he have to inform the tenants what goes in which receptacle? They didn’t care. They seemed determined to make his life a living hell. Garbage in recycling, recycling in garbage, and organic everywhere, stinking up the whole place.

Lonnie took off his baseball cap and wiped his brow with his sleeve before running his hand over his bald spot. The morning sun still hid behind the building, so at least he had some shade.

Readjusting his cap, he noticed a pair of feet sticking out from between two bins further into the alley. Startled, he inched closer and cast an apprehensive eye into the gap. One of his tenants, the wizened fifty-year-old Robert, sat propped up against the wall. His head tilted to one side, his mouth half-open as he snored. Dried vomit splattered on the left side of his shirt.

Lonnie rubbed his temple with a resigned weariness. Robert wallowed in drinking, drugs, and God only knew what else. The police had been called several times in the past year because the entire family was skirting the law. A nephew had been arrested for theft, and the son had been questioned about selling drugs. It amounted to petty stuff, but it disrupted the apartment building, and the other tenants were none too pleased. Some of them had reported being scared by the dubious characters visiting Robert. Whatever the case, Lonnie’s repeated talks with the police had concluded that nothing Robert had done so far warranted arrest. Being a pain in the ass wasn’t an indictable offense.

“Now, there’s a sight for you.”

Lonnie turned to see Sam, smirking as he leaned on the railing of the front porch. The robust thirty-something tenant from the building on the other side of the alley held a cup of coffee and a cigarette.

“What can I do?” Lonnie asked, raising his hands in a gesture of exasperation.

“I hear you. Eventually, though, things will take care of themselves.”

“I’m not sure when that’s going to be. The lawyer I hired has been bogged down with the city’s tenant review board for months. Scheduling a hearing to plead my case is next to impossible, as there’s quite a backlog of cases. I’ve got little hope for an eviction.”

“It can be tough.” Sam sipped his coffee and took a puff.

“Robert hasn’t paid his rent for months, but I can’t just toss him in the street. Only the review board has the power to do that. I’d get into trouble with the law and possibly be arrested myself.” Lonnie scowled. “Geesh, a tenant could be charged with murder and not get kicked out.”

Sam took another sip. “Did you hear about my run-in with the cousin?”

“No. What happened?”

“Last week, I was out here around midnight. I went inside for a moment to take a leak, and when I came back out, I found the cousin on the porch, rifling through my stuff. I had to grab my phone out of his hand and push him away. That started a screaming match. He retreated to the sidewalk, picked up a rock, and threw it at me but missed and busted the front window.”

Stunned, Lonnie gasped. “That sounds pretty brazen.”

“I called the cops. They happened to be up the street and were here within minutes. They picked him up a block away, and he spent the night in jail. I don’t know if he was drunk or stoned, but then again, he could be just plain stupid. Whatever the case, if I have to take a leak, I’m not leaving my stuff on the porch.”

Lonnie turned back to the garbage containers. “I don’t know what to do about this mess.”

“I’ve watched Robert and his minions,” Sam said with a look of amused disgust. “They tour the neighborhoods, searching for stuff to resell. Most of what they pick up is junk, so you get the extra duty of putting it on the sidewalk for pickup.”

“My bins are often overflowing. I sometimes have to use extra sacks to pick up everything, but the city demands that I pay for a garbage tag for each extra bag I put on the curbside. This is crazy.”

“A month ago, I noticed they found a new mattress on the streets.”

Agitated, Lonnie waved his hands in frustration. “Monkey see, monkey do. Tenants up and down the street don’t know what to do with large items, so they see my garbage area and dump stuff here. Robert set his old mattress out, and by the following week, I had three other mattresses to get rid of. My God, this place is turning into a public dumping ground!”

Sam chuckled.

“And guess what happened? They’re complaining about bed bugs. Bed bugs! Why did they think the mattress had been thrown out in the first place?”

“Time for me to go to work. Hang in there, Lonnie. Who knows? Robert has pissed off so many people, maybe somebody will kill him for you. Ha!”

“Yeah. See you.”

Lonnie stared down at Robert, wrinkled with an unhealthy, weather-beaten look. He was seventeen years younger than Lonnie, but appeared older than him. How much longer could his body take such abuse?

Curious, Lonnie touched Robert’s foot with the toe of his shoe. “Robert?”

No reaction.

Now irritated, Lonnie kicked his foot.

Robert roused, coughed twice, and fell silent.

Lonnie stood for a moment, contemplating the scene before him, puzzled and annoyed. He then snorted and went back to picking up garbage, one piece at a time, and depositing it in the bins.

“Good morning, Lonnie.”

He looked up to see Bridget, the single working mom from one of the second-floor apartments, holding the hands of her two young daughters.

“Well, hello there.” He burst into a smile. “Rachel, Naomi, off to school, I suppose.”

Bridget beamed as she gazed at each of them. “I’m driving them early this morning. They’re going on a school trip to a museum.” The neatly dressed girls smiled timidly. Bridget noticed Robert and her expression turned disparaging. “Lonnie, you must get rid of this man. He upsets everyone around here.”

“I’m sorry, Bridget,” he said, contrite. “I’m doing what I can.”

“He worries me, and I’m scared for my children.” She tugged at her daughters and led them toward the back parking lot.

“Have a good day,” Lonnie said as he watched them disappear around the building.

Robert stirred and made a guttural sound. His bloodshot eyes blinked and fell on Lonnie, but he didn’t seem to recognize him. He fumbled around, working himself into a standing position with great difficulty, squinting as he gawked at his surroundings before staggering down the alleyway.

Lonnie stared after him, both disgusted and perplexed by his behavior. Robert had to be crazy.

He heard footsteps and turned around to see the tenant from apartment two on the second floor.

Dwight strode toward the back parking lot. “Hey! Did you see the game last night?”

“Nah, I missed it.” Lonnie tossed a magazine into recycling.

“Our home team seems to be in the groove this season. If they keep this up, they could very well end up in the finals.” Dwight stopped. “Oh, by the way. There’s a bulb out in the upstairs hallway at the top of the stairs. It’s pretty dark at night, and I have to be careful not to miss the steps.”

“Thanks. I’ll take care of it as soon as I finish here.”

Dwight kept to one side as Bridget drove down the alley. Lonnie moved out of the way and waved at the girls as they went by. He shut the last bin and headed to the double-car garage in the corner of the parking lot, which served as his workshop and storage area. The sun was already baking the black asphalt and the rising heat told him the day would be a hot one.

“Son of a bitch!” Dwight stood by his car, gesturing for Lonnie to come over.

“Look at that!” Dwight pointed to the driver’s door. “Somebody keyed my car!”

Lonnie ran his hand over the paint.

“I’m sure it was Robert,” Dwight said, furious. “I caught him drunk the other night, taking a leak here, and told him to get lost. Instead of apologizing, he swore at me.” He let out an exasperated sigh. “This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had a run-in with that little weasel.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m going to kill that bastard. What the hell is this going to cost me to get fixed?” Dwight shook a finger at Lonnie. “Get rid of him, Lonnie. And the sooner the better.”

Dwight stormed off as Lonnie gazed after him, contemplating a future with Robert and without him. Lonnie felt trapped. He didn’t see a way out of this nightmare, the resignation of a condemned man unable to extricate himself from a bad situation. All he could do was continue, putting one foot in front of the other with the hope that something would save him.

& & &

Lonnie opened the front door and held it open with his left foot. He grasped the step ladder leaning against the wall and moved it through the opening, careful not to touch the door jamb, not wanting to damage the paintwork. It was his building, after all, and he wanted to keep it as pristine as possible.

Once outside, he stopped to get a better grip on the ladder and glanced at the renovated commercial front housing a new restaurant. The neighborhood was moving away from its low-income past and going more upscale, and his real estate agent had told him he would make a tidy profit with the steady rise in resale values. This would ensure his retirement was financially secure. He had put in his time in a forty-year career, and now, it was his chance to enjoy the fruit of his labors: his golden years.

He started up the alley when he heard shouting. From around the corner at the back, Robert and his nineteen-year-old son, Guri, appeared. Robert pushed his son toward the street, raising his arms and yelling profanities.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Guri shouted while stepping backward.

Robert went to push Guri again when Guri swatted Robert’s arms to one side and lurched back up the alley. Robert grabbed Guri by his collar and hauled him toward the street.

Guri stumbled, trying to twist out of his grasp. “God damn it!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs.

He lost his balance and fell to his knees, reaching out and getting one hand on Robert’s belt. They both collapsed on the pavement, flailing at each other without landing a solid punch.

Guri broke free from his father’s hold and ran to the mouth of the alley. He stood on the sidewalk, gesturing and screaming. Robert took several menacing steps toward him when Guri ran off. Robert stood in the middle of the alley, huffing, his face red with anger. He glared at Lonnie and gave him the finger. Startled, Lonnie watched Robert stomp up the alley and disappear.

Lonnie bit his lip as he craned his neck toward the street and back to where Robert had gone. He scratched his head, picked up the step ladder, and walked behind the apartment building to the workshop, clicking his tongue in bewilderment. He had never imagined being this hands-on in managing his own property and certainly never imagined dealing with this self-destructive nuisance.

& & &

Lonnie stood at the half-open back entrance to the building, staring at the broken strike plate hanging from a screw. The door jamb splintered where the latch bolt had punched its way through the wood. Several dirty shoe prints were visible around the door handle.

He said nothing. He didn’t react.

This was the third time in four months he had found the back door kicked in. He had confronted Robert about this, but he always denied any knowledge of it. Unfortunately, Lonnie had no security cameras — he had never needed them before, and they were costly. He could not say who was at fault, but he had his theories. Robert kept fighting with his son, probably over drugs, and would lock him out of the house. Lonnie suspected Guri forced his way back inside, as Sam told him he had once seen Guri kick the door.

Lonnie heard the stairs creak from the basement apartments. The door swung open, and Robert’s wife, Rita, appeared, wearing large sunglasses.

“Oh.”

“Rita,” Lonnie said, stepping out of the way.

“Excuse me.” She held her head down, stepping over the door sill, dragging a suitcase on wheels.

“Rita?”

She stopped.

“Are you all right?”

She remained still for a moment and then turned to look at him.

“Is something wrong?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

She hesitated and took off her sunglasses. Her left eye was swollen, the area underneath blackened with patches of red. Her left cheek had purplish marks with two distinct cuts.

“Whoa!” Lonnie’s heart thumped. “Have you been to the doctor’s?”

“Ah, no.”

“You should go to the hospital.”

Rita put her sunglasses back on. “I’ll be okay.” She turned and started walking away. “I’m sorry. I have to go to my sister’s.”

Lonnie took two steps from the back door and peeked into the alley, watching Rita pull her case toward the street.

Good Lord, he thought.

Was it Robert? Was it the son? Or was it some other crazy in the various questionable people who had been coming around for drugs?

This had to stop.

& & &

In the early afternoon, Lonnie found himself at the edge of the back parking lot, surveying the space underneath the stairs of the fire escape. A broken chest of drawers, part of a child’s bicycle, various miscellaneous items, the area seemed like a dumping spot; lazy people idly tossing things they no longer wanted, as opposed to properly disposing of them in the garbage.

He held a green garbage bag in his left hand as he bent over and collected coffee cups, a hammer, two light bulbs, several magazines, and pieces of wood and metal that may have been part of something else. A clear plastic bag held some powder. Drugs, food, laundry detergent? He couldn’t be sure, but picked it up, anyway.

“Lonnie?”

He looked up to see Eva and Gustav of the second basement apartment.

“We’re giving notice,” Eva said.

“I’ll be sorry to see you go. New opportunities?”

“We can’t take it anymore. Robert is crazy. He’s either drunk or stoned, and he can be belligerent. The crowd he’s hanging around with worry us. There are people going in and out of the building at all hours of the night.”

Lonnie sighed. “I’ve done what I can to get them evicted, but my hands are tied by the law.”

“No matter. It’s up to us to do something, and we’re moving. We’ll be out by the end of the month.”

Eva grabbed her husband by the arm and walked off.

Lonnie stared after them for a moment and turned back to his task. He took a deep breath, bent over, and continued picking up items to put in the garbage bag. It was one thing after another, he thought.

A noise caught his attention, and he stood to see a middle-aged woman in a pantsuit standing at the back door, pressing a buzzer.

“May I help you?” Lonnie asked.

“I’m looking for Robert Galamb.”

“The door’s not locked. You could go in and knock, but I guess if he’s not answering the buzzer, he’s not home.”

She seemed deep in thought.

“I’m Lonnie, the owner.”

She stuck out her hand. “I’m Victoria, a friend of Rita’s.”

“Ah,” Lonnie said, shaking her hand.

“I’m here because I’m concerned.”

“You mean the black eye.”

“Oh? You know?”

Lonnie gave a knowing smirk. “I’ve seen a lot over the past while, Victoria. I’m not sure anything would surprise me with Robert.”

She grimaced.

“He’s now missed four months’ rent,” Lonnie said.

“Not again?”

“Again? What do you mean?”

“The Galambs were evicted from their last apartment for nonpayment of rent. The landlord was beside himself as it took a year to get an eviction order, and he lost twelve months’ rent. Over thirteen thousand dollars.”

“What? How in heaven’s name were they ever let into my building?”

“I helped the Galambs do the interview with Alex, your previous property manager. Alex never asked questions about their previous landlord. He never did a background check.”

“Good Lord! It’s standard procedure to verify any potential tenant to avoid problems like this. Why didn’t you say something?”

“I’m here to help the Galambs. It’s not my job to do your property manager’s work.”

Lonnie flushed with anger.

“At face value, the Galambs appear to be good people. They have been married for twenty years. I’ve known them for ten. But things went off the rails about three years ago when Robert got involved with drugs. He used to be a nice man, but he’s become irresponsible, sometimes violent, and involved in nefarious activities to support his habit.”

Lonnie gritted his teeth, trying not to explode.

“My friend is in trouble, and I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried to help, finding them work, getting them retraining courses, and assisting them with accommodation, but Robert seems determined to throw it all away.” She shook her head, frustrated. “And now this.”

“What’s she going to do?”

“Rita has gone to live with her sister as she’s at her wit’s end. Robert is destroying her life, and she wants to file charges. But will that work? He has always said in no uncertain terms that if she ever tries to divorce him, he’ll move away so she can never find him to serve papers. He refuses to let her out of their marriage. I hate to say it, but I don’t think Robert is going to recover. He’s being consumed by addiction, and he’s going to destroy himself and everyone around him.” Victoria pulled out a notepad and pen. “If you see him, would you call me?” She scribbled a couple of lines and torn off a sheet. “I will phone him, but I suspect he may not answer if he sees my name.”

Lonnie studied the paper, her printed name and a phone number. “Okay.”

“Thanks for your help. I hope we meet again under better circumstances.”

Victoria walked to her car and drove off.

Lonnie watched her, fuming. He was in this mess with Robert because Alex hadn’t done his job. If Lonnie had known any of this, he would have fired Alex! What was he going to do? How would he ever get back to enjoying his retirement?

He pulled out his smartphone and brought up the calculator app. Robert had missed four months of rent. What if he missed the entire year? He punched in $1,200 times twelve. The extra garbage collection, time, effort, cost of garbage tags, etc., this must be averaging a hundred bucks per week. He punched in $100 times fifty-two. Robert had skipped out on paying his utility bill of over a hundred a month. He punched in $100 times twelve.

Lonnie stared at the total: $20,800. That represented this year. What about next year?

He stamped around in a circle, waving his arms. “God damn it! This bastard is bleeding me dry. I’m better off leaving the apartment empty.”

He stopped. Eva and Gustav’s empty apartment added another $1,200 per month. Finding tenants for basement apartments was tough enough, but finding somebody willing to live next door to a druggie? “God damn it!”

His voice quivered with anger, and he shook his fist. He’d never be able to sell the building under these conditions. No one would want to invest in such a financially unstable and problematic apartment building. Heck, no new property management firm would ever accept overseeing this troublesome situation. His breathing calmed down as his red face changed into a look of determination. This had to stop, and he was going to stop it.

& & &

The cashier scanned the last item and eyed the register. “That will be sixty-two dollars and forty-seven cents.”

“I want to add this,” Lonnie said, holding out a sheet of paper.

The woman took the page and examined it before punching into the register system. “Your new total will be three hundred and forty-two forty-seven. Debit or credit?”

Lonnie fished out a cardholder. “Credit.”

The woman pointed to a reader. “Insert here.”

He slid in his card, followed the prompts and punched in his PIN.

“The truck’s going out in thirty minutes, delivery at…” She leaned toward the computer screen and squinted. “Delivery will be at three. Make sure you’re around. They’ll only wait for ten minutes.”

“Thanks. I’ll be there.”

“The rental is for twenty-four hours, but you’re late for pickup. You’ve got it till eleven tomorrow.”

“That’s fine.”

He put each item, a coil of cord, plastic sheets, and latex gloves, into a cloth bag he had brought and headed out of the store. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he walked the six blocks back to the complex and headed straight for the workshop.

Lonnie moved equipment and storage boxes around, clearing the middle of the floor around a drain. He hooked a pulley to an overhead beam and passed through a nylon rope. On a workbench, he laid out an electric handheld saw.

He unfolded a plastic picnic table and set it to one side before looking up at the ceiling and studying the supporting beams. Unfolding several plastic sheets, he threaded some cord through their eyelets and threw the end of the cord over a beam, creating a U-shaped blue curtain around the drain in the middle of the floor, open toward the workbench.

A knock sounded at the door.

Lonnie opened it to a young man sliding up the rear door of a box truck and activating the lift gate.

“You Lonnie Holcomb?” The man hopped up and rolled out a wheeled machine.

“Yes, I am,” Lonnie said.

The gears hummed as the platform lowered to the ground. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Pickup is at eleven a.m.”

The man pushed the machine toward the workshop for several steps. “All yours.” He raised the platform, closed up the back of the truck, and drove off.

Lonnie walked around, examining the compact model combination woodchipper branch logger. He grunted and raised the roller door, wheeling the device inside to the workbench. Securing the shop, he stood for a moment, admiring his handiwork. He was ready, and he felt somewhat elated. He had a plan and was no longer sitting on the sidelines, waiting for something to happen. Take charge of your destiny. He had hope.

On the workbench, he opened his laptop and studied his checklist. He had done his homework and prepared everything necessary, and even though he had never done this before, he felt confident he could do it. He pocketed a vial and closed up the workshop.

& & &

In the evening twilight, Lonnie came out of the alley to find Robert slouched in a folding chair outside the back door of the apartment building, a beer bottle dangling from his hand. The sun had set, but the motion-activated spotlight had not yet tripped on.

“You said last week you’d have your rent,” Lonnie said.

Robert didn’t look up, his head swaying. “Next month.” His voice slurred.

“You’re four months behind.”

“Things are tight.”

“You know you can’t keep this up.”

“Why not?”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Yeah, sure.” Robert took another swig of beer.

An agitated voice from inside yelled something. Lonnie glanced through the open door and spotted a man at the bottom of the stairs leading to the basement apartments.

Robert half-turned in his chair. “What?”

The man yelled again. “I can’t find it!”

With an impatient huff, Robert set down his beer and disappeared inside the building. Lonnie glanced at the beer bottle and then glanced at the door. He was nervous, but now was his chance.

Lonnie took out the vial and poured the contents into the beer bottle. A noise came from inside, and he saw Robert coming back up the stairs with the man. The two of them walked a distance away and conferred in low voices. Robert passed him something, and the man rolled it around in his hand before holding it up closer to his face. Satisfied, he put it in a pocket, said a last word, and walked off.

Seconds later, Robert settled back in his chair. The light over the door blinked on and cast a dull glow over the area.

“Where’s Rita?” Lonnie asked.

Robert picked up the bottle and took a sip. “She went to visit her sister.”

“I hope she’s okay.”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw her this morning, and she had a black eye.”

Robert stared at the bottle, took a sip, and looked at it again. “Yeah. She fell down.”

Lonnie glared at him.

Robert glanced up, noticed Lonnie’s accusatory regard, and turned away. He raised the bottle to his lips and took several long swallows.

Lonnie continued to stare at Robert. His head wobbled back and forth, eyes half shut. A line of spittle dribbled out of one corner of his mouth.

Robert’s arm fell to the armrest, and the bottle slipped out of his hand, clattering on the cement entranceway. Lonnie waited a moment, then picked up the beer bottle and headed around the side of the building to the containers. He poured out the last of the contents before putting the bottle into recycling. He came back and grabbed Robert’s right arm.

“Okay, let’s go,” he said as he pulled him out of the chair. Robert stumbled, only half-responsive.

Lonnie pulled the drug-dealing wife beater’s arm over his shoulder and slid his arm around Robert’s waist. Lonnie half-turned and took a breath. Geesh, what had he been eating? Or was he not showering?

They lurched to the workshop, and Lonnie led him inside, locking the door behind them. Robert seemed asleep as Lonnie laid him on the picnic table. Or unconscious. What did Lonnie know about drugs?

Lonnie snapped on a pair of latex gloves, touched the trackpad, and his laptop came alive. He clicked through several folders and opened a web page, How to Slaughter an Animal. As he scrolled through the introduction and read a summarized list of steps, he peeked at Robert. He then scrutinized a picture of a captive bolt, the device used to render an animal unconscious or kill them. He had previously watched a video of a farmer holding the device to the forehead of a thousand-pound cow. After a distinct pop, the animal dropped like a sack of potatoes.

He picked up a rectangular metal plate and a hammer from the workbench and then placed the metal across Robert’s forehead. For a moment, Lonnie paused, wiping his brow on his sleeve. He was going to kill somebody because there was no other way out of his quandary. His mind was made up, and there was no turning back.

He raised the hammer and slammed it down on the plate; the sound of metal hitting metal made a resounding thunk. Lifting the edge of the plate, he looked at a slight indentation in the skin. He bent over and listened.

Was Robert still breathing?

Lonnie held his first two fingers to the side of the throat. Was there a pulse or not?

After setting the plate and hammer down, he turned his attention to the clothes. He took off Robert’s shoes and socks, putting a sock in each shoe and arranging them at the far end of the workbench. He unbuckled the belt but hesitated to remove it, deciding to unzip the pants and pull them and underwear down together. It took some effort to turn the hips to get the waistbands to slide around each buttock. He folded the pants and underwear and piled them beside the shoes. After unbuttoning the short-sleeved shirt, he puzzled over getting the arms through the sleeves until he hit on the idea of raising the arms over the head and pulling the shirt up. He took off a plain gold ring from the fourth finger of the left hand and stuffed it in a pocket of the folded pants pocket.

With the clothes piled up, Lonnie turned to his laptop when Robert moaned. Shocked, Lonnie jerked around in time to see Robert’s head roll to one side when his mouth opened as if to say something. Lonnie scrambled to pick up the hammer and moved Robert’s head back into an upright position. Putting the metal plate on Robert’s forehead, he brought the hammer down with such a forceful blow it rattled the table. Robert gasped and lay still. Lonnie paused, waiting for another reaction, and then slammed the hammer down again. If not dead, Robert had to be unconscious.

The laptop article showed step two: exsanguination.

“Ek san gwa nah shun,” Lonnie said aloud. He moved Robert onto the floor and tied the cord around the ankles. Pulling on the rope, he raised the body with a pulley until it hung off the ground, the arms dangling down. Lonnie eyed the neck and looked at the hanging arms. How to drain the blood? He retrieved a length of cord and tied one end around the right wrist. He passed the other end through the crotch and tied it to the left wrist, so both arms remained at the sides, pointing up.

The head hung about a foot and a half off the floor. Lonnie crouched with the box cutter and rotated the body to expose the side of the neck. He held up the cutter and paused. He took a deep breath and steeled himself. This would not be easy, but he would see it through.

He swiped with the knife and flinched.

Nothing happened.

A red mark bloomed across the neck, but he had failed to cut deep enough.

He let out a sigh of annoyance.

Moving his fingers on the handle, he resumed his grip, raised his hand to one side, and slashed with a determined force deep into the flesh. Something splashed into his face, and he shut his eyes.

He spit.

Lonnie jumped up and hurried to the sink to splash water in his eyes. He blinked several times and applied more water. He leaned forward and regarded himself in the mirror. There were still some red spots, so he splashed more water before taking a paper towel to wipe himself off.

What had happened?

He shuddered in horror as blood gushed from Robert’s neck, forming a pool around the drain. The heart was still pumping, and the pressure had squirted him in the face. If the article was right, the non-penetrative captive bolt rendered an animal unconscious. Death would come as ek san… ek san gwa na shun.

Lonnie slipped between two sheets of his blue plastic curtain and unfurled a garden hose before turning the tap. Holding back a sheet with one hand, he aimed the nozzle and squeezed the trigger, spraying a jet of water across the floor. Robert’s body twitched several times. He walked around, cleaning the cement of blood, making sure the reddish liquid flowed to the drain. At the last moment, he gave the side of the head several mild spurts. Blood still oozed from the neck, but at a much-reduced rate.

The air had become humid, and the musty smell of the workshop had taken on a new scent; the scent of death.

Setting the hose aside, he lowered Robert to the floor and untied his ankles and wrists. He unthreaded the rope from the pulley and wound it up.

Lonnie sniffed. There was a faint odor.

He moved one of the legs to reveal a patch of brown. The muscles had relaxed, and the body had defecated.

Lonnie cleaned the body with the hose and manhandled it onto the table. He heard a noise like a sigh and gazed at Robert’s face. The eyes were half-open, and Lonnie trembled in disbelief. Robert’s lifeless blue eyes stared back at him.

Lonnie passed his hand over the eyes, but they remained open. Quivering, he put his index finger on the lid of the right eye and tried to close it. The skin was pliable and moved, but as soon as he let go, it sprang back open. Lonnie sneered. So, all those movies showing somebody closing a dead man’s eyes were lying.

He picked up a tape measure and pulled out the end tab, holding a length of the tape over the feeding hopper of the woodchipper. He then held the same length over various parts of the body.

How many pieces should I cut him into?

An industrial-sized woodchipper that could handle entire tree trunks could do the whole body at once, but Lonnie had to work with what he had and now felt energized about the task.

He pulled a plastic tub from under the sink and positioned it under the discharge spout. Stepping back, he contemplated the tub and the body. Robert was a small man, maybe around a hundred and fifty pounds, so the tub would be more than sufficient.

Lonnie put on a floor-length, long-sleeved protective smock before bringing a full-face mask over his head. He picked up a handheld rotary saw, unraveled the cord, and plugged it in. Standing at one side of the table, he pursed his lips as he gawked at the blade of the saw.

Oh, boy!

This was going to be tough, but if he stayed focused, he hoped this could be finished in thirty minutes.

He started with the right foot, holding the saw over the ankle and pressing the trigger. The device gave out a high-pitched whirring noise as the blade sliced through the flesh and emitted a deeper grinding noise when it hit bone. When he reached the Achilles tendon, the foot teetered to one side and fell over. The blade scraped the plastic table, and he let go of the trigger.

Lonnie examined the bloody flesh of the exposed calf. It was gross, but also fascinating. Muscle, bone, ligaments, sinew. He knew nothing about anatomy, but couldn’t take his eyes off it.

Glancing down, he noticed spatters of blood and flesh on the floor and realized he had spatters on his smock. This would require a good clean-up.

He set about dismembering the body, first with the limbs: the other foot, then the calves and thighs, followed by the hands, forearms, and upper arms. The sound of the electric saw varied between the whine of cutting flesh and the grinding of cutting bone. After decapitating the body, he set about dividing the torso into manageable pieces. He had to put down the saw several times to pry apart body parts to get the saw into tight places. This turned out to be more hands-on than he had expected.

Lonnie left the saw at the far end of the table and stood for a moment, looking away. His stomach heaved, and the taste of bile welled up in the back of his throat. His daily chores didn’t include cutting up bodies.

He glanced at his arm and cast his eyes down. Even though the safety guard on the saw protected him from flying debris, he still got stuff on him. God, he had pieces of flesh everywhere.

Lonnie took two steps to the woodchipper, selected the fine chip setting, and flicked on the switch. The buzzing of moving gears filled the workshop.

He picked up the right foot and leaned over the feeding hopper. Two rollers with interlocking teeth turned into each other. He dropped the foot and watched as the teeth dug into the flesh, tearing the appendage apart, punctuated by the sound of grinding bone. A type of hamburger speckled with grayish bits came out of the discharge spout and plopped into the tub.

Lonnie fed each body part into the hopper, waiting for the grinding process to finish. He used a scoop to spread the ground meat in the tub to avoid clogging up the discharge spout.

The head was the last item, but as he reached for it, he heard a noise and froze.

A knock sounded at the door of the workshop.

He shut off the woodchipper and listened. His heart pounded in his ears.

A muffled voice came from outside. Somebody tried the door.

“Just a second!”

He removed his mask, gloves, and smock, and then swept aside a plastic sheet to walk to the door.

“Yes?” He passed both sleeves of his shirt over his face.

He flicked off the lights, unlocked the door, and peeked out. Bridget stood in the darkness, a low-watt bulb over the door lighting her face. He half-opened the door and stood with one foot propping the base. “Oh, hi, Bridget.”

“Sorry, Lonnie. Are you going to be working much longer? I’ve put the girls to bed, and the noise is bothering them.”

Lonnie glanced up at the back windows of the building and noticed two figures. He waved and smiled. “My apologies. I lost track of time. Once I start a project, I forget everything else.”

“No problem.” Bridget craned her neck, peeking into the dark workshop.

Lonnie instinctively moved to block her view. “Listen, I’m almost finished. Just give me another five minutes, and then I promise to stop. This is garbage night, so I must get busy and get all the trash cans set out on the sidewalk for pickup.”

“Okay.”

“Tell the girls I’ll be quiet so they can have a peaceful sleep.” He chuckled.

Bridget half-smiled. “Thanks.” She turned and walked back to the building.

Lonnie watched her disappear and sighed in relief. He shut the door and locked it, pausing for a moment before turning the lights back on. That was close. He returned to his job, thinking the workshop seemed to have a smell about it. It smelled sort of like meat.

After feeding in the head, he stood over the tub. That was all that was left of Robert. He no longer existed. Life was going to be different.

Lonnie took a box of compostable bags and set it beside the tub. Kneeling, he scooped the meal into a dozen bags, a manageable quantity and weight. He put them all in a small cart, placed the pile of clothes on top, and moved it to the door.

Getting out the hose again, he sprayed everything: woodchipper, tub, saw, table, mask, smock, plastic sheets, and floor, making sure any blood and small pieces of flesh were washed down the central drain. He went back a second time and examined the various parts of the woodchipper for anything stuck out of sight, shooting a jet of water into the discharge spout and the feeding hopper, flicking the power on and off several times to turn the grinding rollers and spray the teeth from all angles.

Lonnie stood with the water nozzle in his hand, looking around the room. Had he missed anything? The air was humid, and everywhere, droplets of water glinted in the overhead light. Satisfied with the clean-up, he put everything away and took down the plastic sheets and the pulley.

He left the workshop, pulling the cart, and plodded up the alley between his building and the house next door. Leaving the cart to one side, he rolled each of the fifteen garbage bins out to the front of the building and lined them up flush with the curb. Up and down the street on each side, residential and commercial property owners had lined up their own containers for the city truck to pick up.

After getting his bins lined up, Lonnie returned with his cart and marched down the block, stopping at each garbage bin. He lifted the top and placed a compostable bag inside, moving other items around to bury the bag out of sight. He did the same with the clothes.

Once back at the alley, he stopped and gazed up and down the street. It was late, and nobody was around. The night was peaceful, soon to be interrupted by the garbage pickup, but he enjoyed the quiet after the bustle of the day. One enjoyed a sense of accomplishment when one got rid of the garbage in their life.

& & &

Lonnie watched Stuart measure the door frame and cut a piece of wood.

“This should hold it without having to buy a new frame,” Stuart said as he cut out the section of the broken strike plate. “With some putty and paint, it’ll look brand new.”

“Thanks for fitting me in first thing this morning. I hope this doesn’t happen again.”

Lonnie wandered to the front of the building and wheeled the bins to their place in the alley at the side of the building. After making the trip several times, he stopped to watch Stuart screw the strike plate back into place. Stuart opened and closed the door, turning the handle to make sure the parts meshed together.

“Are you the building manager?”

Lonnie turned to see a husky police officer standing at the mouth of the alley, and for a moment felt a chill course through his body. There’s no way they could be suspicious. He shouldn’t let any guilt get the better of him.

“Yes, sir. Lonnie Holcombe.”

“I’m Officer Benton. I’m looking for…” He glanced at his phone. “Robert Galamb.”

“He lives here, apartment A, in the basement. But I don’t know where he is right now. He could be in a number of places.”

“May I check?” Benton pocketed his phone.

“By all means, follow me.”

Lonnie led the officer to the basement. He knocked on the door. They stood there for a moment.

“No answer.” Lonnie fished out his keys and opened the door. “Hello? Robert? Rita?” He stepped inside and glanced around before turning back to the officer standing at the open door. “Nobody home. You can come in and have a look for yourself.”

“That’s fine.”

“Anything I can help you with?” Lonnie gave him a curious look.

“I wanted to have a word,” he said, keeping a stern face.

“You guys have visited the property several times to see Robert. He’s well-known in the building. Drugs, theft, there have been several run-ins with the police. He’s been a disruptive force in the neighborhood.”

Benton nodded. “We are aware of him. I’m here because his wife has filed a complaint for assault.”

“I saw Rita leave yesterday with a black eye. Have you spoken with her friend Victoria?”

“Yes.” Benton furrowed his brow. “It takes time and effort to locate somebody, but it can be difficult if not impossible to locate somebody who doesn’t want to be found. We hope to get lucky.” He took out a business card. “If you see him, please call us.”

“Of course.” Lonnie glanced at the card and put it in his pocket. He showed the officer out and returned to inspect Stuart’s work.

“The knob wasn’t broken, only the strike plate, so the existing keys will continue to work,” Stuart said. “Leave the door open for an hour to let the paint dry. Other than that, you’re good to go.”

“Thanks, Stuart. Email me the bill, and I’ll make sure it’s paid right away.”

“No problem. Have a good one.”

Lonnie examined the door, both the knob and the strike plate, glancing at the small piece of wood holding the door open.

A truck pulled out of the alley, turned into a spot and backed up, stopping with the end at the garage door of the workshop.

A young man hopped out and went to the back of the truck, opening the door and lowering the lift gate.

Lonnie walked to the workshop door. “Hi.” He scanned the man’s nametag. “Tom.”

He appeared bored.

Lonnie raised the roller door and pushed the woodchipper out to the truck. “I cleaned it up.”

Tom shrugged. “Thanks, but I’m required to clean it after every rental. Some people leave it in quite a mess, twigs, leaves, mud and stuff. The machine can get gummed up, and we have to hose it out.” He stopped and shook his head. “Last week, some yahoos found a couple of dead raccoons and threw them in the chipper.”

“Holy cow!”

“Yeah, I know. Right?”

Tom wheeled the chipper off the ramp into the truck and secured it with strapping.

“Thanks, again,” Lonnie said, standing back and watching.

Tom closed up the back door. “No problem.” He climbed into the truck and disappeared into the alley.

Lonnie walked back to the front and returned to bringing in the bins.

When he came around to get the last bin, a courier truck had double parked, and a uniformed deliveryman stood at the front door, reading the names on a buzzer panel.

“May I help you?” Lonnie asked.

“I have a package for Lonnie Holcombe.”

“That’s me.”

The deliveryman held out a stylus and grasped a tablet with both hands. “Sign here.”

Lonnie chuckled. “Whenever I sign like this, my signature is so distorted, it looks like I was drunk.”

The deliveryman took back the stylus and handed over an envelope. “Have a nice day.”

“You, too.”

Lonnie watched the man get into his truck and drive away. He then ripped open the envelope and pulled out several sheets of paper. It was from the lawyer. The tenant board had ruled in favor of Lonnie and issued an eviction order. Robert had to leave the building.

Lonnie stared off into the distance. He would do a simple refurbishing of the two basement apartments, raise the rents by a hundred bucks a month, and go back into the marketplace. But this time, he would do a thorough background check of any potential tenant, including contact with previous landlords. With things stabilized, it would be easier to find a new property manager and even sell the place. This could work. In fact, he thought the situation was looking up.

What had Sam said? Things would take care of themselves.

Maybe he had overreacted. Oh, well. A sure thing was better than uncertainty, and sometimes, you had to take matters into your own hands. He had done his research. Every year, hundreds of thousands of people are reported missing and thousands are never heard from again. He couldn’t fix all the ills of the world, but he could fix some of them. And now, he would get back to enjoying his retirement. Lonnie snickered. He just had to hope he never had to manage his own property again.

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright William Quincy Belle 2025