PROLOG: The following is a true story pulled from the files of the Sanitation Squad. The events described here actually happened, but the names have been removed to protect the not-so-innocent.
The Place: Palo Cedro, Shasta County. Not a bad place to live if you like skunks and coyotes.
The Time: Tuesday morning before Dawn. Sounds from the street disturb the neighborhood …
VAROOOOMMMM… SCREEECH…. BEEP…. BEEP…. BEEP…… WHAM…. WHIRR….
Oh-Dark-Thirty I awake, and realize… IT’S GARBAGE DAY. I jump out of bed, race to the window, and peer down the driveway into pitch-blackness. “DID ANYONE PUT THE CANS OUT?”
Silence… except for an idling diesel engine…. Suddenly, I see that I have a who-should’a-done-it mystery on my hands.
**
Story begins the previous Monday. Suppertime. Lightfoot kitchen. My name’s Robb. My Partner’s Karin. We’re parents, and we carry a mortgage.
We were working night-shift on the counter near the stove. Making dinner. It’s quiet, one of those evenings when the town takes a deep breath and holds it, just waiting to exhale trouble. Then it happens.
“What’s wrong, Robb?”
“Somethin’.”
“What?”
“Dunno. Just a sense I got.”
I look about, and then I see it. The trash can. It’s full. More than full. Overflowing. It reeks.
“Hmmm…. Suspicious in-activity.” I say, and signal my partner to cover for me. I cruise into the front room to work the case.
Dangerous place, the TV district. I see the usual suspects. Four of them, splayed out on the couch and floor. Watching. Up to no good. Strung out on reruns. They ignore me. Probably should call for backup. Then I recognize the leader. Known in these parts as the trash man.
“Hey (name: redacted)…. You still doin’ the garbage?”
An almost-lifelike form stirs. “Uhhhh.”
“Don’t make me get tough here. Is that a ‘yes,’ or a ‘no’?”
The subject’s eyes shift, and then roll.
“Later, Dad.” The volume on the TV set increases.
Years of cop-shows and parenting, which share much in common, guide my interrogation.
“Meaning that you’ll tell me later? You’ll decide later? Or you’ll do it later?
Subject scowls, and then shrugs. I take this as a negative response. The others slink into the shadows.
“So that’s the way you want it?” I pull up a chair. “OK. I’ve got as long as it takes.”
Silence.
“Not the first time we’ve been here, right?” I say. “Easier if you cooperate.”
“BUT I TOLD MOM ALREADY.”
Hmmmm. Subject sought counsel? Incriminating.
“Right,” I bark. “Mom’s in the next room. Just wait here, and let’s see if she gives you up.”
Trash man takes the 5th, and I step back. Out of the corner of my eye I glimpse a furtive movement towards the can. STOMP. STOMP. STOMP. I smell a potential break in the case, I stop and turn on tough-cop. “Hey.” I point at the others, “So give me a name. Wanna hang this on one of them?”
Ouch. An accomplice pulls a remote, and I’m shot with glaring eyes. Just a glancing ego wound. I return fire by flipping on the lights. Screams. Moans. Trash man gives himself up. Trudges off.
“And while you’re out, take the cans to the street,” I snarl.
“It’s dark.”
“Yes,” I say, “that happens each night.”
“But it’s scary… Daddy.”
Ah…. the suspect is beginning to crack. “Well, good news kiddo. This week, no one’s been roughed-up by rubbish.”
“OK. BUT I’M BRINGING GRACIE!”
“Sure,” I say, “Corrupt an innocent dog.”
Subject grudgingly hauls garbage outside, bringing the family Collie, Gracie. This dog’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but Gracie’ll follow trash-man anywhere. I return to my station to check in with my partner.
“Learn anything?” Karin asks.
“Trash Man’s on the move.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“May be a gang activity.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Who?”
“Gracie?”
“Gracie. You know, one with the small, beady eyes. Doggone shame.”
Trashman’s gone a long time. Returns just at supper. No Gracie.
The lineup troops onstage for dinner. We see them face on, and then in profile. Chewing. Exercising their jaws and their right to remain silent. Trash man smiles wickedly but avoids eye contact.
Still no Gracie.
Despite repeated questions from my partner and I, we’re unable to ascertain if cans were moved to the street or Gracie’s whereabouts.
Suspicious.
TO BE CONTINUED ….
**
EPILOGUE: Tuesday Morning, O-Dark-Thirty plus two.
I race to the street . Cans are out. Sweet Smell of Success. Score one for the Sanitation Squad, Special Parent Unit.
I head back to the house, pass our garage.
Light’s on. Hmmmm….. Better check it out.
Looking in. Nothin’s amiss. But then…
A mournful whimper….
An unmistakable odor….
“WHO PUT A SKUNKED DOG IN MY LAUNDRY ROOM!?”
Time to rouse the usual suspects.
Robb has enjoyed writing and performing since he was a child, and many of his earliest performances earned him a special recognition-reserved seating in the principal’s office at Highland Elementary. Since then, in addition to his weekly column on A News Cafe – “Or So it Seems™” – Robb has written news and features for The Bakersfield Californian, appeared on stage as an opening stand-up act in Reno, and his writing has been published in the Funny Times. His short stories have won honorable mention national competition. His screenplay, “One Little Indian,” Was a top-ten finalist in the Writer’s Digest competition. Robb presently lives, writes and teaches in Shasta County.