Here is something that I've been working on for the past couple of days. If I were ever to attempt an actual 'novel' ths would be it. obviously it would take a lot of editing for that to happen, but I'd be willing to do it. Anyway, here's the story. I hope you like it.
THE DISTURBANCES OF MALERO
Kurt and Bernie never were what you’d call your ‘everyday’ deputies, at in terms of their partnership. The two were as different from one another as humanly possible, and it was a comical sight to seem then working together as town deputies, especially in Bernie’s case.
Bernard “Bernie” Valdicci, hired reluctantly by the Sheriff Tomas Stuckly, after most of his previous officers had just up and left him because of low-pay and not enough days off, was more interested in drinking and playing cards than catching wetbacks sneaking into Malero, Southern Texas. And as far as he was concerned, all the Mexicans could just hop back over that fence where they came from. In fact, he himself wanted nothing more than to hand in his ‘badge’ and quit on the spot at this time. After Sheriff Stuckly had hired him, Bernie figured he’d get to shoot at no less than five Mexicans a day. This never happened, and now he was on the verge of quitting, just two weeks into the job. Of course he could never do this, not with what the Sheriff was paying him: two thousand dollars a month, plus a nice cozy home at the northern edge of Malero, away from the drug-dealers and alcoholic bums. Bernie just couldn’t let that get away from him, not after what the Sheriff had done for him over the past two weeks.
No more than two months ago Bernie could usually be found in the slums of Malero, selling a little crack here and there, and smoking even more. He had been jobless, for the most part friendless, save for his crack-buddies. His life had been wasting away, little by little, until one day a certain man saved him from that terrible fate.
During a botched drug-deal, Sheriff Stuckly and one of his deputies had barged through the door of the two room apartment, to find nobody but Bernie and a bag full of weed on a rusted old aluminum table. Stuckly had brought Bernie in and thrown him in jail, not really knowing for how long. He figured no more than three or four days would suffice, but he had more important things to worry about: A strike, by all of his officers except for three. The group of about ten wanted more pay and more days off, but Sheriff Stuckly wouldn’t budge. So they left, leaving the small town of Malero with a Sheriff and one deputy named Ricky Stanton. This was when a brilliant idea came across the Sheriff’s mind.
And the rest, as too many say, was history. Sheriff Stuckly talked with Bernie for a whole five hours nonstop. He offered the druggie a job as the local ‘border patrol, or “watching out for wetbacks entering the city from the south and southwest”, in the words of the Sheriff. The talk struck a lot of fear into Bernie, who had that point never wanted to see the slums again. Bernie would later in life call Sheriff Stuckly “the friendliest prick I had ever met”. He had quickly agreed to the offer and now Malero hosted a Sheriff and two deputies.
But Kurt Brennan’s story was different, much different. Unlike Bernie, Kurt lived in the northern part of town, away from all the bad stuff. His father had worked in the oil rigs all his life, and his mother had taught Elementary School for over twenty-five years. At the brisk age of twenty-five, after a few years of ‘thinking after community college, Kurt walked into Sheriff Stuckly’s office, asking for a job.
After finishing high school, Kurt had accepted a full ride to a small community college in the northern part of the state, playing football of course. During his Freshman and Sophomore years he was voted once to the All-Conference Team, and twice to the All-Academic Team. He was a good boy in those days, with a good education to back him up. However, the last two years of college were rough for Kurt. It was something he didn’t like to talk about, with anyone. Fortunately for him it wasn’t bad enough to where he was kicked out of school, but only because he hadn’t been caught. Needless to say, he didn’t tell his parents, or mention it to Sheriff Stuckly for that matter.
“And why would I want to hire you, young man?” Stuckly had asked him when Kurt wanted the job, though Stuckly had already known he was going to hire him as soon as he had laid eyes on him. Kurt was strapping boy, with broad shoulders, no doubt built from slamming people into the ground. Kurt had been an all-star linebacker on Malero High School football team.
“Well, I don’t get into trouble, and unlike many others I don’t quite mind, nor am I afraid, of chasing Mexicans out of Malero.”
And that was all it took for Sheriff Stuckly to hire him. Kurt spoke with intelligence, and he knew when to shut up and when to speak out, something the Sheriff liked a lot. Stuckly could tell that Kurt was going to make a fine officer someday, maybe even a Sheriff if he played his cards right. Though, it was widely known that Sheriff-ship involved politics as well as skill, Stuckly knew this very well. Why, if it weren’t for the Mayor’s praise he likely wouldn’t even have been elected to his position in the first place.
And now, only two weeks into the hiring of Kurt and Bernie, the two are lounging around the office, playing a game of ‘heads-up poker’ with one another. Their usual job of keeping the Mexicans out of Malero was going slow the past couple of days, and the two were bored out of their mind. Since the town of Malero hosted only three Police officers, counting Sheriff Stuckly, this meant that there usually wasn’t much to do. There was always a drug deal to bust, but even that had slowed over the past week.
“I raise you one dollar,” Bernie said as the flop was laid onto the hardwood work table. Bernie was an excellent Poker player, and had a mean face to go along with it. However, Kurt had picked up on the game at his community college, something Bernie did not know. He figured the rich Kurt would know nothing about Poker, and he assumed he’d be hustling money from the “kid” in no time. He would soon find out how wrong he was in that assumption.
“I call it, and raise you two dollars more…” Kurt replied with no emotion whatsoever, the perfect Poker face and tone.
What the hell? Bernie thought to himself as Kurt laid down two crisp one dollar bills onto the table. He was having trouble reading Kurt’s mind, something he had never had a problem with before, out of anyone. Should he go in or stay out? The kid could be bluffing, but he wasn’t too sure.
“I call.”
Another card was dealt and laid onto the table. Yes, a straight! Bernie thought, though careful not to show the excitement on his face. “I raise five dollars.”
“I call, and raise ten dollars more…”
Kurt had doubled the bet once again, and this time Bernie was speechless. Surely the kid had not a clue what he was doing, and was just ‘toying’ with his money, Bernie said to himself. But of course there was the chance that he really did have something good, and didn’t know how to control his aggression.
The pressure was mounting, and the sweat was coming down Bernie’s cheek, no matter hard he tried to stop it. And in Kurt’s face, there was something a smile, if nothing more than a small trace. He had Bernie right where he wanted him, and he knew it.
Slowly, as if not knowing whether he was making the right decision, Bernie said, almost in a whisper, “I fold…”
Now the smile was clear on Kurt’s face, and he laid down his cards face up, showing that had just tricked Bernie. Kurt had nothing but a pair of threes, club-suited. “I’ll be taking my money…”
And Bernie simply as there stunned beyond belief, taking in what had just happened. He, a ripened thirty-two year old, had just gotten suckered by a kid barely into his twenties. Oh, how life was so funny sometimes…
Just then the door to the small office busted open, and there stood Sheriff Stuckly with an angry expression spread across his old wrinkled face. Sweat was pouring down his plump cheeks, and his face was as red tomato.
“Why ain’t you two down in the slums huntin’ for wetbacks?” he asked with a furious tone. Stuckly had gotten like that lately, always yelling and bickering about everything there was to complain about. It was probably the heat getting to the overweight man. After all, it was in the middle of July and the average high for the remaining month was going to be around one hundred and two degrees.
“Come on, boss, there ain’t been any of them around here in days! What makes you think they’re all of a sudden gonna show up out of nowhere?” Bernie asked with his usual smartalic tone.
“For your information, smartass, I just got a call from Miss Brown. She caught a couple of them stealing vegetables from here garden. When they saw her they took off running into the Slums. I need you two to go bring ‘em into the station.”
Bernie sighed heavily, rolled his eyes, then got up from his seat and grabbed his officer’s belt with all the necessary gadgets.
“Ah, I hate to make you actually do your jobs!” Stuckly yelled, and then walked back to his own office, slamming the door hard behind him.
“That lard-boat is really gettin’ on my nerves, you know what I mean?” Bernie said as he buckled his belt around his slim and trim waste.
The truth was, Kurt did know what he was talking about, exactly what he was talking about. Sheriff Stuckly had been very crabby as of late, but Kurt didn’t like talking about it out loud. He was brought up to be a respectful young man, and openly gossiping about others didn’t fall under the description of respectful.
“Does it really matter, Bernie? I mean, he is right, you know. We should be in the streets…not playing cards.”
“[censored], kid, don’t start kissin’ boat on me. I won’t be able to take that.”
The two were finally dressed in police uniform, so they exited the station and then hopped into the police-issued ’77 Ford pick-up truck. It had seen its years on the road, seeing how the current year was 1984, but it still packed a lot of juice in its engine. The truck could barrel down the highway faster than some of those fancy sports cars, thanks to Bernie’s many modifications of course. Plus, the truck was able to easily drive in all kinds of different terrain, which was the main reason they drove the truck rather than a regular car in the first place.
Malero, a small town of around two hundred fifty people, give or take a little, (and not counting the homeless in the southern part of the Slums) had several shops smack dab in the middle if the city in what was called Malero’s “Market”. One of those shops was a hair salon strictly for black men and women, and this place was ran, owned, and lived in, by Miss Cecilia Brown. Miss Brown was an African American lady in her late fifties, and was as feisty as they come concerning the Negro population. Many African Americans stayed in the northern part of the Slums of Malero, particularly for good reason. The white folk of Malero, who lived in the northern parts of the city, didn’t really take kindly to Negros, and before three year ago, it was a normal scene to see a young black boy get jumped and beaten by a large gang of whites, and sometimes even death occurred.
However, Mayor Bryant Montgomery had put a stop to that, and had ever since then the police have locked anyone up for messing with the Negros. Mayor Montgomery was fair man, and didn’t want the Negros living in fear for their entire lives when it was absolutely unnecessary. Naturally, the white folks of Malero didn’t like it a bit, but were starting to come around and get used to it. However, one person had never, ever been afraid of the whites, and that was none other than Miss Brown.
Her husband died some twenty thirty years ago in a gang-beating, of course brought upon by whites. Ever since that day she learned to hate and despise the whites and everything they do. You could almost go as far as to say that she was a ‘radical’ in some ways, but not quite. Her hair salon was only used by other black woman, and the profit she brought in each year was plenty for her to live on, partly because Mayor Montgomery was secretly helping her fund the place. He liked a Negro with envision and ambition, and that was the perfect description of Miss Brown, even in her late fifties.
But despise her hatred for whites, there were two Caucasians she would deal with in a friendly matter. One those were obviously Mayor Montgomery and the other was Kurt; The Mayor for obvious reasons that shouldn’t be too hard to figure out, and Kurt simply because he was a gentleman and treated her like she was a normal human being. Miss Brown was essentially the ‘voice and reason’ of the Negro population, which would soon be a little more than thirty-five percent. And because of her reputation, she demanded respect from everyone, and if she didn’t get it let’s just say you wouldn’t want to be on her bad side. Miss Brown was a fiery old lady who wasn’t scared of, in her own words, “any damn thang, livin’ or dead.”
Now Bernie’s relationship with Miss Brown was a whole different story. Miss Brown saw Bernie for what she thought he really was, and that was a druggie. “Once a druggie always a druggie,” Miss Brown had said when they first met, and she has held true to that opinion her entire life. Her father had been a minister and her mother just as religious, thus molding Miss Brown to see every drug and alcohol a major sin. Obviously Miss Brown has always been an extremely religious person, and that is why she dislikes Bernie. Because even though he’s stopped the crack use and the ‘hard stuff’, he still drinks, smokes cigarettes and even pot every now and then, and uses profanity that would cause a seasoned sailor to cringe. Unsurprisingly, Miss Brown and Bernie don’t at all get along, and the only reason she puts up with his presence is because he is Kurt’s partner, and she absolutely adores Kurt.
“I’m telling you right now, kid; if that fatass of a lady disrespects me again I swear I’ll beat her black boat with my nightstick. And don’t think I won’t kid, I ain’t playing this time.”
Of course Kurt knew Bernie was in fact playing, though trying to sound tough. Even though Bernie hated the Negros just as much as anyone, he wouldn’t dare touch any of them since he was working for the Malero Police Department. Sheriff Stuckly himself didn’t quite like them either, but he puts up with because of Mayor Montgomery.
“Just pay attention to the road, Bernie. You drive crazy when you’re angry.”
“Oh, I ain’t angry, just a bit agitated that I have to put up with her [censored] time after time. It gets old after a while, you know? And damn, I really wish she’d stop calling us out every time the wind blows! That’s started to get annoying as well.”
“Maybe if you didn’t walk into her house smelling like smoke all the time she’d start to like you a little bit. That and stop cursing, and I bet she wouldn’t think of too bad of a person,” Kurt said smartly, not thinking before speaking.
Bernie slammed on the brakes hard, causing Kurt’s head to almost fly into the airbag. If there was one thing Bernie hated the most, it was being reprimanded for smoking and cussing. It was that one red button you could push if you ever wanted to really dig deep into his skin. Kurt had learned that the hard way on his third day on the job. And now it appeared he had done it again, though not on purpose. It just sort of slipped out, mostly because he was angry at the way Bernie was speaking of Miss Brown.
“Listen here, kid, I’m gonna tell you this for the last time. Don’t you [censored]in’ worry about what I do off-duty, you hear? I don’t give a flying rat’s boat what anyone thinks of me, but I’m not gonna sit here and listen to you [censored] at me like my old pop used to before the prick overdosed on cocaine. You got that?”
Kurt simply nodded his head and stared straight through the windshield. He wasn’t really afraid of Bernie because he knew, or at least thought, that he’d never try to hurt him or anything. However, once in a fit of pure rage, he was as dangerous as they come. The drugs had done this to him, and the effects would last a lifetime. Being all of six-foot-four, Bernie was a big man, fit and trim as well. Kurt was big himself, though only six foot even and therefore was rather small when compared to Bernie. Anger issues barely scratched the surface of Bernie’s problems, but Kurt knew he had some of his own, so he shut his mouth and didn’t say a word the entire way to Miss Brown’s.
When they arrived at the salon, some five minutes later, they found Miss Brown sitting on the porch drinking an iced tea, and vigorously waving a fan to cool her sweaty face. The weather was always warm in Malero but so far this summer it had been absolutely scorching, much hotter than usual. “It’s about time you boys showed up. Those damned Mexicans took off into the Slums, I seen them myself.”
“Why aren’t you in the house, Miss Brown? It’s awfully hot today,” Kurt said as he and Bernie walked up the driveway.
“My air conditionin’ is broke, I’m afraid. I called Louie yesterday to come out and fix it, but he doesn’t know when he’ll have time to come out. He’s probably getting’ drunk off that tequila again. Lord knows he drinks heavily from sun up until sun down. It’s no wonder everybody complains about him. I think you all should investigate whether he’s doing job or not,” Miss Brown said, still waving the fan. She didn’t look very good, almost as if she were about to pass out; And given the fact that she going into her sixties, that definitely wasn’t a good sign.
“Well, we’re here to see about those wetbacks, not to gossip about who’s doing what. Now, what exactly did they look like?” Bernie said, a little too much on the rude side.
She gave him a dirty look and replied, “They were both short of course, with short black hair. One of them was a young man wearing all black, jeans and a t-shirt, and also had a dark mustache spread across his entire lip. The other was even younger, a little boy probably no more than thirteen years old. He was wearin’ brown, raggedy jeans and a white t-shirt.”
“Is that all you can give us?” Bernie asked sarcastically, even though Miss Brown’s information was more than suffice.
“Yes, that’s all I remember,” She said, annoyed by his rudeness. “As soon I saw them they took off into the slums, just southwest over there. Who knows what’s happened to them now. If any of my kind gets hold of them there no telling what will happen. I’d suggest that you find them quickly. I don’t particularly like the Mexicans, but that doesn’t mean I want to see them dead either.”
“Don’t worry, ma’am, we’ll see to it that they are not harmed. Thank you for your time, Miss. And you should really pay a visit to a friend with air conditioning. You aren’t looking too good,” Kurt said sincerely.
“Oh, I’ll be fine, suga,” Miss Brown replied. “You two just worry about y’selves. I know it must be hot running around in this heat.”
“If you say so, Miss. Do you mind if we keep our truck parked here until we get back?”
“Of course not. Be careful traveling in the Slums, I wouldn’t want any of you to get ambushed by a group of drunks.”
“Don’t worry, that’s why he got these,” Bernie said, winking at Miss Brown and pointing at his shiny .45. Needless to say, Miss Brown did not approve of that comment a bit. She gave him one last glare and then walked back into her salon, still waving her fan.
So Bernie and Kurt left her house, heading straight for the Slums on foot. They’d leave their truck parked next to Miss Brown’s house simply because it was too dangerous to take into the Slums, mainly the southern part. In the South Slums you could find all kinds of nasty human beings; and this included hobos, drunks, extreme druggies, runaway Mexicans trying to find a place to ride out the night, and much more. It wasn’t a pleasant place at all, and the two had learned from their first experience never to bring anything of value into the Slums. The Negros never really bothered them, so it wasn’t them Bernie and Kurt were worried about.
“You think they’re still alive?” Bernie asked as he and Kurt walked dirt path to the Slums. I don’t know, I’m not too sure. I mean, the Mexicans certainly know how to sneak around and hide, but if any of the drug-induced crazies find them I fear they’ll be dead in no time.”
In Bernie’s eyes, there were two things good about the Southern Slums: one, good cocaine, though he hadn’t had any since being hired by Stuckly. And two, they tended to take care of the Mexicans for him and Kurt. Usually the Slums are where the Mexicans would run, and the people there usually killed them on the spot. This wasn’t a good thing to Kurt of course, but to Bernie it was much easier than catching them and brining them into the station. Besides, he didn’t care about them one way or another anyway.
“I sure hope they’re dead. It’s too damn hot today to be messin’ with wetbacks. I wish they’d just stay in Mexico, you know what I mean, kid?”
“Yeah, but then we wouldn’t have a job, would we?”
Bernie gave him an amused glance and said, “You got a point, kid. Though, I’m sure someone like you have no trouble finding something else. I mean, come on pretty boy, you’ve got it all; an above average family money-wise, good looks, a college education, man, I’m really jealous.”
Bernie gave him a humorous grin, reminding Kurt that sometimes Bernie wasn’t so much a pain in the boat. He was sort of like beer, ‘an acquired taste’, if you will. The two, though different in many ways, were starting to find a way to handle one another’s personality.
Once in the Northern part of the Slums, Kurt and Bernie hurried through without paying much attention to the Negros, and vice versa. The blacks didn’t want anything to do with them, because whenever police found their way to the Slums it usually wasn’t for a good cause. Of course, many of the Negros wanted to protest daily for the way their living environment. Though the Mayor was more than willing to let the Negros live in Malero, there was no way in hell they could live mixed in with the white folk. Oh no, that was a ‘civil war’ waiting to happen. Instead, at least for the time being, separation was the key in keeping the whites and blacks from fighting one another.
And of course Miss Brown was the mediator in between. She saw to it that the blacks did not riot through the streets like wild animals. However, she always made sure that the Negros had all of the necessary needs and services, such her own hair salon, a grocery store, and an all-purpose hospital, among other things. Even the Market of Malero was split down the middle. Usually whatever the whites had on their side of the Market, the blacks had their own on their side. Miss Brown was fighting hard to get her people a better and cleaner living environment, but so far to no prevail.
Once Kurt and Bernie entered the Southern part of the Slums, it was as if the sun had been blocked out, and had been replaced by an evil air of darkness. The Southern Slums was the last place anyone wanted to be, but since Bernie was sort of a ‘vertern’of the place, he wasn’t too worried, or at least as much as Kurt was. Kurt was a brave man, this was true, but the thought of what was creeping through the Southern Slums made him shiver with anxiety.
The night after Kurt’s experience n the Southern Slums, he had a nightmare. In it he had been chased by all kinds of people, the drunks, the druggies, and the hobos. When they had finally captured him they tore his limbs off one by one, and then had fed him to their dogs. Bernie had been in the background, lying in a thick pool of blood with a bullet on the right side of his head.
Of course, it was all a nightmare, nothing else. But ever since then Kurt has secret had a genuine fear of the place. He would never tell Bernie of this, however, for fear of being made fun of. But it was more than the dream that had him scared of the Southern Slums. More than anything it had to do with his last two years in college.
“Alright, stay close, kid. And make sure you have a quick hand to your gun in case things get crazy,” Bernie said humorously, though with serious intentions. He was trying to keep loose with Kurt, even though he knew the seriousness of their situation. The Southern Slums hosted some bad characters; ones that wouldn’t think twice about killing two rookie deputies if it was somehow beneficial.
“And just follow me. I know of a former drug-partner who might give us some information on the Mexicans, if he’s seen them that is. I’ve got about fifty dollars in my wallet, so we can use that if we have to.”
“But don’t you think that’s a little too dangerous,” Kurt asked. Since you’re a police officer now, I don’t think he’s going to friendly. In fact, he probably sees you as a traitor now.”
“Nah, not Billy. Billy’s been my best drug-buddy since high school. He’d never turn on me…”
So they walked the streets for several minutes, passing by the drunks and hobos. The druggies were all hiding now, for they could always sense when the police were around. Bernie knew the feeling, but he couldn’t explain. It was almost magical in a way, but of course that sort of talk was nonsense.
“Here w are, kid. Stay behind me.”
They walked up to an old run down house, almost small enough to be a large shed. The windows were cracked for the most part, if broken completely. A weird smell was coming from the house, something that made Kurt a little dizzy almost.
“God damn he’s smoking up a storm in there. That’s some stink weed for sure,” Bernie laughed. “And I must say it smells awfully good. He must have got it from his contact.”
Kurt wanted to ask what he meant by ‘contact’, but then figured he probably didn’t want to know. Once they reached the door, Bernie knocked hard three times, two times, and then tree times once more. After several seconds of silence a country-voice rang from inside, one with surprise and also a sense of anger.
“Holy hell, is that you, Bernie?”
“It sure his, Billy-boy. Let me in real fast. Me and my partner need to have a word with you.”
Silence for another few seconds, and then a shrill, “Ah, hell no, Bernie! I know you’s a deputy now! You want to arrest me for possession, just like that fatass Sheriff done to you! Go the hell away, I ain’t talking to nobody!”
Bernie sighed and then looked at Kurt. “He’s too high right now to know right from wrong, so let me tell you something. We’re gonna sneak in from the back, and if he attacks us, don’t shoot. I’ll deal with him and then we can tie him to a chair or something. If anybody knows where the wetbacks are it’s Billy.”
“But isn’t that against the law, to invade someone’s home and tie them up like that?”
Bernie sighed again and said, “Listen, kid. Do you wanna find the wetbacks or not? I mean, do you really think Stuckly gives a damn as long as we get em somehow?”
Kurt simply shrugged his shoulders and then followed Bernie to the back of the house. From inside the house Billy was screaming his lungs out, yelling everything from “I ain’t talking to no one, ya’ [censored]in’ traitor!” to “[censored], I ain’t got much yet, better smoke it tonight before it goes bad…” the man was obviously a looney, and Kurt knew some kind of struggle was about to take place. H also knew that Bernie knew it was well. He could tell by the look on his partner’s face.
“Okay, just follow my lead and enter as quiet as possible. If we’re lucky we can catch the dumbass by surprise. He’s probably going through his stash right now.”
Suddenly Bernie quietly opened the back door and stepped through, with Kurt following close behind, his gun in his right hand just in case things didn’t happen how Bernie was envisioning they would. Sure enough, Billy was indeed going through his stash, almost in a frenzied sort of way.
All of sudden Kurt accidently tripped while coming through, and Billy heard this. He immediately pulled out a machete, screaming insanely, “I’m gonna gut you, you [censored]in ‘, lyin’ traitor!”