Dang: A Humorous Mystery: Dang, #1

Chapter One

Willem woke up and slipped a pinch of Skoal in before getting out of bed. He could see the sunlight shining through the tiny bedroom window of his single-wide trailer. Just after sunrise usually was the best time for him to collect. That was four hours ago. Another thirty minutes passed before he was up and moving. He squeezed into the bathroom, rubbed his stubbly head and splashed warm water on his face. He peeked back at his wife, Cindy, still asleep on the waterbed, then stumbled into the kitchen. He pushed his broken coffee maker aside and boiled water for a cup of instant. The stretched-out neck of his Dale Earnhardt t-shirt made it easy to pull over his head while sipping his coffee. His jeans, which he grabbed from the laundry pile beside the couch, fit a little tight around the gut he’d put on in the past year as he bent over to tie his work boots. He put on his Bassmaster cap, bent the brim and headed out the door.

Murven was already waiting by Willem’s pieced-together Ford F-150. Neither spoke right away. Willem figured Murven was still upset at him for calling Luna a high-end road whore the night before. That used to be true, but Murven and Luna, his on-again, off-again wife, had both finally gotten over each other’s pasts. They didn’t need Willem diggin’ up those bones. Murven hopped in the truck as Willem lifted the tarp over the bed, grabbed a tire tool and tightened the left rear wheel so the damn thing wouldn’t fall off again. Willem took one last look at his load, tied down the tarp and jumped in the driver’s seat. The truck sputtered to a start and Willem jerked it into gear. The old Ford rattled out of the trailer park, and they rode in silence through the county backroads as the pickup struggled its way through the rolling hills. Willem still wasn’t sure if Murven was upset about his comment or if he even remembered. Oh, well.

You not workin’ today? Willem said.

Nah, Murven said, job got shut down. Not sure if it’s gonna restart or not.

Murven, like most of the trailer park tenants, worked on and off. Construction jobs had been hard to get since the recession. Even if you could get one, it didn’t last. Murven didn’t care, though. He knew how to get by. He decided to start helping Willem on his free days. Luna was pregnant again, and her moods were swinging like a tire swing on a short rope. Murven planned to stay out of the house as much as possible until the baby was born, and probably afterwards, too. He’d been curious about Willem and his business, anyhow.

For the last year, Willem had been running what he called a biofuel/fertilizer supply company. He saw a TV show about the many uses of cow manure and horse manure. He knew where to find plenty of cow shit and horse shit, so he figured it just made sense for him to collect it and sell it. So far, he hadn’t made any sales. So far, he hadn’t had any prospects either. So far, all he had was a giant pile of shit he added to every day. Willem was dedicated, though, and he spent most days collecting. He had mixed feelings about Murven tagging along. Murven didn’t like work much and mostly worked hard at getting out of it.

Willem and Murven cruised down a long stretch of highway where they used to drag race their hot rods as teenagers. Willem pulled off the road and drove into a Class 1 field. Willem had created a classification system for his collecting grounds. He only had two categories. Class 1 meant good for collecting, and Class 2 meant bad for collecting. Willem liked to keep things simple.

Murven got out first and grabbed a bucket and a shovel. Willem did the same and they headed off in search of as much cow crap and horse crap as they could find. They both filled their buckets and headed back to the truck.

So this is collectin’? Murven asked.

Yep.

This is what you do every day?

Yep.

You ever find anything besides shit?

Yep. Been findin’ a lot of teeth, Willem said.

Tell Peggy, Murven said. She lost a set a week or so ago.

Nah, I mean lots of different teeth. Sometimes the whole tooth, with roots and all.

You think they’re human teeth? Murven asked.

Willem shrugged his shoulders, spit and walked away. He worried that finding a human tooth would bring unwanted attention to him, his collecting grounds and his new business. He knew what the police did to crime scenes and the people involved. He didn’t need any of that. Just as soon as he thought about all the trouble it would bring, Murven said, Let’s call the law!

What the hell for?

This could be the break you’re looking for, Murven said. You’re an entre-manure. Think of the free publicity. You could be all over the news!

That’s the last thing Willem wanted. He’d been on the news before. It wasn’t worth it. He put his head down and went back to collecting.

He couldn’t help thinking about the teeth he’d collected. He’d found about fifty teeth, all together. He had no idea who they belonged to or how many different people. They turned up in different places, all within about five miles from the trailer park. At first he didn’t think much of it. Plenty of people he knew were missing teeth. But after about thirty or so, it started to seem weird.

Come on! Willem hollered, after he emptied his second bucket into the truck. I gotta run see Poot!

Pete Barber, or Poot, as people called him behind his back, owned the trailer park and the majority of the town. He was the landlord, bank, bail bondsman and guidance counselor for most of the trailer park tenants. He was a good guy. People trusted him. He was just gassy as hell. Willem was two months behind on his rent. He hoped Poot was in a forgiving mood.

The town was quiet as they coasted down the main street. The few people they did see kept to themselves and went about their business. Willem parked behind the real estate office. Poot asked him not to park in the front because the odor was running people off. Anyone who’d ever spent five minutes in Poot’s office would wonder why the hell that even mattered.

Willem jumped out of the truck and said, I’ll be right back.

A’ight.

Make sure the BFF is covered, will ya?

BFF? asked Murven.

Bio fuel slash fertilizer. B. F. F.

That ain’t what BFF means, Murven hollered.

It is to me, Willem said, as he disappeared behind the door.

Murven adjusted the camouflage cap on his curly brown hair and took off the plaid flannel shirt he had on over his dirty white t-shirt. He tossed his shirt in the truck and picked up a stick to poke through the BFF. He figured he’d see if he could find any teeth or anything else interesting.

Willem walked into the real estate office. He paused to look at the new buck Poot had mounted on the wall. He knew Poot didn’t hunt, so Willem figured he took it as somebody’s rent payment. Poot did what he could to help people. Willem liked that about him. He nodded at Sandy, Poot’s assistant and daughter-in-law, and eased into Poot’s office.

How you, Pete?

’Bout 60-40. You?

Same ole.

How’s business? You sell anything yet?

Not yet, but it’ll happen.

Willem liked the way Poot showed interest without being judgmental. Most people told Willem he was a dumbass. Not Poot.

Well, we need to work something out, Willem. You’re two months behind on rent. When do you think you can pay?

Uh, not sure, Pete. What’re my options?

I guess the best option is for you to sell some of the bio fuel slash fertilizer you been stockpilin’ and pay me some money. But I’m not sure what the chances are for that. How much of that stuff you got now, anyway?

I don’t know really. Good bit.

You still keepin’ it in the barn out there on your family’s property?

Yep.

You still not ready to sell that land? I’ll buy it from ya.

I can’t sell it on my own. I gotta get my brothers to agree. That ain’t happenin’ anytime soon.

A’ight, then. How ’bout doin’ some work for me to cover the rent?

Whatchya got in mind?

I don’t know yet. Lemme get back to ya.

Sounds good, Pete. ’Preciate it. Lemme know if you come across anybody that needs any bio fuel slash fertilizer.

Yep. See ya later, Willem.

See ya, Pete.

Willem walked out of Poot’s office happy that the conversation didn’t take any longer than it had. He wasn’t sure which reeked worse, his BFF or Poot’s office. He gave Sandy another nod and headed out the door.

Willem! Willem! Murven hollered. You ain’t gonna believe what I found!

Ah, shit, Willem said. I’m starting to feel like the damn tooth fairy.

Oh hell no! It ain’t no tooth, man! It’s better than that!

Willem couldn’t imagine what he meant by better. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to know.

I was pokin’ through the BFF and I found this! Murven said, as he tossed something at Willem.

Willem jumped out of the way. He looked down at the ground and a finger bounced to a stop at his feet.

Geez, man! What the hell? Why you throwin’ that thang at me? Which part of the BFF you find that in, Murven?

The pile over behind your side. We collected that today. I was with ya. We have to call the law now! Murven said. He didn’t have the same hang-ups as Willem about being a part of a police investigation.

Willem kicked the finger into the gutter and hopped in his truck. He shot Murven an annoyed glance. Without saying a word, Murven got in the truck and they headed off to the stockpile. Neither spoke at first. Willem tried to think his way out of all this while Murven worked on what to say and which hat to wear when the local news interviewed him. Murven, not sure whether or not he waited long enough, finally broke the silence. How y’all getting by these days anyways? he said.

Cindy’s workin’ some. Credit card, mostly.

Damn. Wish I had one of those, Murven said.

A wife that worked?

Nah. Credit card.

Willem and Murven slipped back into their own thoughts. Willem turned onto a gravel road and drove for about half a mile. Murven examined the remains of the burned-down old farmhouse as they drove by. He knew better than to ask Willem about the house, the land and his relationship with his four brothers. The brothers were caught in a heated property battle. Each refused to sell his share of the land just to spite the others. If the brothers knew Willem was stockpiling BFF in the old barn, shit would hit the fan. Fortunately for Willem, his brothers lived out of state and none of them had stepped foot on the property since their parents had died in the house fire a year and a half ago.

Willem backed his truck into the barn and stopped at the base of the BFF pile. Murven leaned out of the passenger side window to get a good look at the stockpile. The BFF pile stood about twice as high as the truck and the base covered the entire back end of the barn.

So this is a year’s worth of collectin’, huh? Murven asked, as he jumped out of the truck and approached the stockpile.

You’re probably better off not steppin’ in it, too, Willem said while he tightened the left rear wheel.

How the hell can you stand this stench, man?

"You get used to it. Get a