Five Trailers, Lot D

"Drinking problem, Ronald?" Charles Villeaux asked.

"Huh?" Buster asked, losing his smirk.

"Shirt's soaked, reek of beer, mug laying right there next to your foot," Charles said, grabbing the mug with a gloved hand and putting it into a bag.

"I'll take care of that," Buster said, reaching for the evidence bag.

"Got it; thanks," Charles smiled, eyes hard.

Seventy minutes later, an EMT unit arrived from Lafayette, Louisiana. Two more uniformed police officers escorted the paramedics into the bar. The six officers escorted the gurney out of the bar.

"I find out which one you mother fuckers called? You be joining the bitch, hear?" Ronnie bellowed as 'Manic Monday' by The Bangles jangled out of the tinny speaker.

Three days later, at St. Thomas Aquinas Catholic Church, the church where they'd been married, Linda sat with her parents in the first pew. She was shell-shocked, nearly catatonic at the memorial service of her husband. Between her and her in-laws were their three children. Aaron and Morgan were old enough to understand; their daddy was dead. He had died, just like Tabby, their kitten had died. When Tabby had died, she had not come back. Their daddy wasn't coming back.

Sydnee didn't understand, but she too did cry. She cried because Maw-Maw and Paw-Paw and Nammy and Jamps were crying.

"Mrs. Thompson? Father Greg quietly whispered. "We, we're going to be closing the casket now."

Linda numbly nodded her head and rose to her feet. She followed Ralph's mother and father, urging her children to follow Maw-Maw and Paw-Paw out of the pew. Her parents followed her.

Suddenly, Linda saw, in her mind's eye, her husband's tear stained face. She saw the hurt in his tearful eyes as another man's sperm trickled down her leg.

"Oh God, oh God," Linda cried out as Mr. and Mrs. Thompson wailed, hugging each other.

"Ralph, why? Jesus Christ, why?" Linda screamed as the casket was closed.

Linda collapsed, kneeling on the floor. Nammy and Jamps quickly scooped up Aaron and Morgan; Paw-Paw gathered Sydnee and Maw-Maw tried to help Linda to her feet.

"God, why? Why?" Linda sobbed as the six men, co-workers of Ralph's from Baggett Mattress Factory solemnly took their places around the casket of Ralph Aaron Thompson.

At the gravesite, Linda fainted. Again, she had seen Ralph's tear stained face; again, she had felt the same.

Two weeks after the savage beating death of Ralph Aaron Thompson, Buster was leaving his mother's trailer when he saw Captain Charles Villeaux standing by his motorcycle. He narrowed his eyes and warily approached the police officer.

"Ronald Roy Farmer? You're under arrest; death of Ralph Thompson," Charles said.

"Who?" Buster asked.

"Why y'all always picking on my baby?" Ms. Farmer asked, speech garbled since she did not have her dentures in her mouth.

"Maw, go back inside huh? Get them teeth in and call Kenneth Prejean," Buster ordered.

"Huh? Why y'all never leave my boy alone?" Ms. Farmer demanded.

"Maw, do what I tell you, huh?" Buster yelled.

"You have the right to remain silent," Charles intoned as he brought Buster's massive arms behind the burly man.

"Sue all of y'all. This is police harassment," Ms. Farmer screeched.

"Maw! Shut up! Get inside, put your damned teeth in and call Kenneth Prejean!" Buster bellowed.

The trial of The State Of Louisiana Versus Ronald Roy Farmer began nearly seven months after the afternoon that Ralph had walked in and seen another man on top of his wife, thrusting his cock in and out of his wife's pussy, watched as another man's semen trickled down her thigh. Kenneth Prejean tried to have the venue changed, removed from St. Elizabeth Parish. Unable to provide sufficient grounds for that added expense to the state, that petition was denied.

The jury pool was extremely limited in the parish of St. Elizabeth. Knowing this, Adam Rich, the Assistant District Attorney did not exercise challenges often. Kenneth could not object to the jury pool; after all, it had been his selection. Nor could Kenneth object to Judge Lori Duplantis presiding over the trial.

"Could you try, just try to look a little contrite?" Kenneth hissed at Buster as Adam Rich questioned the Medical Examiner about the autopsy of Ralph Aaron Thompson.

"Huh? What's that mean?" Buster snarled at his attorney.

"Act like you give a shit," Kenneth hissed.

"Then why didn't you just say 'give a shit,' instead of using them big fucking words, huh?" Buster growled, scowling darkly at his lawyer.

"Sorry. Forgive me for assuming you had an IQ over fifty," Kenneth sneered.

Two of the four women on the jury looked ill as the obese Medical Examiner discussed in graphic detail the extent of the injuries to Ralph's face and cranium. Even Judge Duplantis looked uncomfortable.

"With injuries as you just described, Doctor, could Ralph Aaron Thompson have survived?" Adam asked, looking at the jury.

"Well, yes, it's possible," the morbidly obese man said, mopping at his sweating face.

"But Ralph Aaron Thompson did not survive the seven blows to face and skull," Adam said pointedly.

"Objection, your Honor," Kenneth said as the silence loomed. "Is there a question here?"

"Mr. Rich?" Judge Duplantis prodded.

"So, what did kill Ralph Aaron Thompson?" Adam asked, still looking at the jury, making sure he had their undivided attention.

One of the two women that had looked ill actually put her hand over her mouth as the medical examiner described the savage kicks to Ralph's chest and abdomen.

"So, someone kicked, savagely, brutally kicked Ralph Aaron Thompson, a man that stood five feet, seven inches tall, a man that weighed one hundred and forty three pounds? While he lay, unconscious, on a filthy barroom floor? Lay unconscious, on a floor with spilled beer, cigarette butts, ashes, lay on that floor, bleeding internally?" Adam asked.

Juror number seven vomited onto herself. Judge Duplantis hammered on her bench with her gavel.

"For the love of God, could you try to look a little sorry? Could you try to not look like you're bored?" Kenneth shrilled at his client as the courtroom was cleared so that the juror's box could be cleaned.

"But it is fucking boring," Buster growled. "Blah blah blah, contusions. Blah blah blah swelling. Blah blah blah liver, heart blah blah blah. Who the fuck cares?"

"Until this is over? You do. You care," Kenneth snarled.

On the second day of the trial, after the lunch recess, Linda was called to the stand. The young woman was clearly nervous as she stood, hand on Bible, swearing to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

As she sat, Linda would not look at Adam Rich, would not look over his shoulder at her mother and father, at Ralph's mother and father. Linda would not look up from the beveled edge of the railing in the front of the witness box. She saw a knothole that had been sanded down, filled with epoxy, then stained a rich walnut color. The knothole was just slightly darker than the rest of the wood.

"Mrs. Thompson, we're all sorry for your loss," Adam said smoothly.

"Thank you," Linda mumbled.

"And I know this must be so difficult for you," Adam went on.

Linda did not answer. She studied the grain in the wood, wondering why there was a witness box next to the judge's tall bench. Linda wondered why the judicial system made a person wedge into a chair behind a wooden panel, instead of just sitting on a chair. Wearing jeans, she wouldn't be giving anyone a glance at her crotch.

"Mrs. Thompson, do you know the defendant, Ronald Roy Farmer? A.K.A. Buster?" Adam asked.

"Yes," Linda whispered.

"Mrs. Thompson, I know this is hard, but we need you to speak up, speak up loud enough so that our jury can hear you," Adam coaxed. "So, again, Mrs. Thompson, do you know Ronald Roy Farmer?"

"Yes," Linda said.

"And, how do you know Ronald Roy Farmer, Mrs. Thompson?" Adam asked.

"We uh, he was a couple grades ahead of me in school," Linda mumbled.

"So, you just know him from school?" Adam asked.

Linda glanced up from the knothole and saw the coldness in Adam Rich's eyes. She saw that he knew. The ADA knew that Linda had fucked Ronnie. Adam Rich knew that Linda had fucked Ronnie, in her, in Ralph's bed. And Ralph had come home and had seen another man fucking his wife. Ralph had come home and seen another man's semen running down his wife's leg. Gratefully, Linda was not pregnant with that other man's baby.

"I wonder if our bed was a Baggett mattress." Linda blurted out.

A few of the jurors looked at each other. Judge Duplantis peered at Linda's face, eyebrow cocked.

Buster actually guffawed as Linda tearfully sobbed out the events of that day. He guffawed as Linda described Ralph's tearful face as Ronnie left their trailer.

"For the love of God, stick a sock in it!" Kenneth hissed to his client.

"Order," Judge Duplantis intoned, banging her gavel down. "Order in this courtroom."

"Oh, boo hoo hoo, my wife's fucking another man," Buster mocked. "God damned pussy."

"You slut!" Moe Thompson screamed at his daughter in law.

The shaking man turned and glared white hot hatred at Buster. He raised a fist to the smirking bully. Judge Duplantis continued to bang her gavel on her bench, continued to demand order in her courtroom.

"I hope they find you 'not guilty,' you hear?" Moe snarled. "I hope they find you innocent. I'll be waiting for you."

"Yeah? Anytime, old man, anytime," Buster chortled.

"And you had me, I baby sat, I watched your children?" Linda's mother in law sobbed at Linda. "I watched your babies while you slept with this murderer?"

"Your Honor!" Kenneth complained.

Judge Lori Duplantis had her courtroom cleared. Linda stayed in the witness box, studying the grain pattern. She even ran her thumb over the knothole. It had been sanded smooth, filled in with epoxy, and was now flush with the rest of the wood. There was just the slightest of indentations to indicate where it began to mar the otherwise perfectly grained wood.

A few moments later, Kenneth, Adam, the bailiff and Buster returned. The jury was allowed to again take their seats.

"Court will recess until nine tomorrow morning, Judge Lori Duplantis declared and banged the gavel down.

"What? I had come back in here just for that stupid shit?" Buster snarled. "Couldn't just let me go on back to my cell? Really? I had get up, get these fucking cuffs on again, march my ass down here, just for you to do that shit?"

"Again, your Honor, I ask that you dismiss the jury," Kenneth protested.

"And again, Mr. Prejean, denied," Judge Duplantis snapped.

Linda got to shaky legs and doddered out of the courtroom. A few flashbulbs popped and flashed and she blinked. Someone shouted a question at her but she did not respond.

At her parents' home, Linda entered. Morgan and Sydnee clamored for her attention. Sydnee even declared she was a big girl; she'd made potty all by herself.

"I had hoped," Al Waters sighed heavily.

"Al, don't," Betty sniffed.

"I had hoped you'd gotten all of that out of your system," Al pressed on. "I mean, look at what it got you in school, huh?"

"Al, do we really have to?" Betty asked.

"But I can see, once a stupid brainless whore, always a stupid brainless whore," Al said and left the room.

Linda looked at her mother, mouth open in shock. Betty got to her feet and packed the children's books into their back packs. She then packed Sydnee's bottles and emergency diapers into the bag.

"I don't know where you going bring them tomorrow," Betty said and left the room.

"I hate you," Aaron screamed at his mother when Linda tearfully said it was time to go.

Linda quickly arranged for the pregnant girl from the neighboring trailer to come and watch Sydnee the following morning. The girl agreed, so long as she didn't have to change any of Sydnee's diapers.

"Just something wrong 'bout touching someone else's shit, know what I'm saying?" the girl said, the tongue piercing making her speech garbled.

Linda was reminded that she was still under oath as she again took the witness box. She nodded somberly as Adam Rich approached her.

"Mrs. Thompson, do you recognize People's Exhibits F, G, H, I, J, and K?" Adam Rich asked, holding out six small bags.

Linda looked at the large rings carefully, then shook her head no. People's Exhibit J was a large pewter cross mounted on a pewter band. The metal was stained with flecks of rust.

"You do not recognize the rings that Ronald Roy Farmer wore on the day of your ah, your indiscretion with him?" Adam asked.

"And I better get them rings back too, cock sucker," Buster ordered.

"I uh, I didn't, I wasn't looking at his hands," Linda admitted.

"I know that's right," Buster guffawed.

"Them hoochie koochie girls, they always making my boy do bad things," Mrs. Farmer whined to no one in particular.

Again, tearfully, Linda admitted to having sex with Buster in the rear of her minivan. Then, a few days later, he'd rumbled up on his motorcycle, ordering her to bring her 'God damned brats' somewhere else.

"Well, if you do not recognize People's Exhibits F through K, do you recognize People's Exhibits L and M?" Adam asked, showing Linda to quite large steel toed boots.

"I think I'm going throw up," Linda gasped.

"Thud!" rang out as Adam dropped the boots onto the prosecutor's table.

Again, Judge Duplantis had to order the courtroom cleared so that the courtroom could be cleaned.

After lunch, Kenneth put on his most charming smile and asked Linda if her stomach felt any better now. He asked her about high school; had she been a good student, what had her favorite subjects been.

"And, how many boys had you slept with?" Kenneth asked suddenly.

"I what?" Linda asked.

"I mean, if you don't know the answer, give us a guess," Kenneth said, smiling at the jury. "Ten? Fifteen, Twenty?"

"I uh, I don't know," Linda said.

"A hundred?" Kenneth asked. "Come on, give us a ballpark figure."

"I don't know, about five I guess," Linda lied.

"Oh, come now, Mrs. Thompson," Kenneth chuckled. "You don't actually expect this jury to believe that, do you?"

"Told y'all, ain't nothing but a hoochie koochie girl," Mrs. Farmer said smugly.

"I don't know, probably about ten, maybe more," Linda said.

"And surely Ralph Aaron Thompson would have known about your uh, extra-curricular activities?" Kenneth asked.

"Objection, your Honor," Adam finally interrupted.

At the closing arguments, Adam rich again picked up the rings. He held them up for the jury to see.

"Ronald Roy Farmer, a six foot three inch man, weighing two hundred and sixty pounds," Adam said and dropped People's Exhibit F.

"Thud!"

"Struck Ralph Aaron Thompson," Adam said and dropped People's Exhibit G onto the table.

"Thud!"

"A man weighing one hundred and forty three pounds, a man standing only five feet seven inches," Adam said and dropped People's Exhibit H to the table.

"Thud!"

Linda suddenly realized something about Buster's rings in the plastic bags. The flecks of rust on the People's Exhibit J were not flecks of rust, but flecks of her husband's blood.

"Stop it! Please, stop it!" Linda screamed, covering her ears with her hands. "Oh God, Ralph!"

"Thud!"

"Thud!"

"Thud!"

*.*

"Thud!" the door smacked against the wall, hard.

Angela and Sydnee looked at the open doorway. Angela looked horrified. Sydnee looked guilty.

"Thud!" Linda heard and froze, a long ago memory paralyzing her for a moment.

"You!" Linda hissed at Angela. "You get out of my house and don't you ever come back."

Angela hurried out of the room. Sydnee looked stricken as her mother glared at her.

"And you, get dressed. We're taking a little trip," Linda hissed.

"Patrick, family emergency; yes, I know, but just found out my baby's been doing meth," Sydnee heard her mother say as she hurried to put on a blouse and blue jeans.

"What? Momma, I'm not, I don't," Sydnee protested.

"I know what I saw, Sydnee! I know what I saw," Linda screamed.

Aaron had never lost his hatred of his mother. He had never forgiven her for his father's murder. In time, Morgan too had turned bitter toward Linda. Sydnee was still too young, had been too young at the time to comprehend what had occurred fifteen and a half years ago.

"Momma, I swear, Angela just comes in and shows that stuff to me. I've never..." Sydnee protested as Linda hustled her out of the trailer.

Sergeant Leeanne Pyle looked up as a harried looking woman dragged a protesting Red headed beauty into the DeGarde Police Department.

As Linda described what had happened, Leeanne tried to be professional. But the alcohol fumes wafting from the woman made it hard to believe her story. Finally, she had Linda fill out a complaint against Angela Gernaud. While Linda furiously, bitterly scrawled her complaint, Leeanne corralled her supervisor.

"Run a screen on the kid," Captain Bob Chastaine ordered. "Come on, Sergeant Pyle, earn what our taxpayers pay you, huh?"

"Come on, Sugar," Leeanne said, freckles hidden by her heavy blush. "Need run a test on you."

"Oh God," Sydnee moaned, mortified as Leeanne held out the plastic cup.

"Uh huh, think this is fun for me?" Leeanne asked as she stood facing the girl in the small cubicle. "Catch it in the middle."

"Huh?" Sydnee asked, trying hard to preserve her modesty as she wiggled jeans and panties down her legs.

"Start peeing, let it run a couple of seconds, then stick the cup between your legs, catch the stream in the cup, then pull out the sample and hand it to me," Leeanne explained.

Both red heads glowed with embarrassment as Sydnee did as instructed. Leeanne nodded somberly as Sydnee whispered her innocence, whispered that it was Angela and Angela alone that was responsible for the incident.

"And, uh, your momma's got a bit of a drinking problem?" Leeanne asked quietly.

"I uh, I don't know. I mean, I know she likes vodka," Sydnee admitted as she wiggled jeans and panties up her legs again.

"Well, when y'all leave here, she ain't driving, hear?" Leeanne stated.

At first, Linda thought to protest, then solemnly nodded her head and handed the car keys to Sydnee. Normally, she would have brushed her teeth and sprayed a little bit of perfume for her shift at Walmart. But there'd been no time to do such concealment; she'd been on a mission.

Home again, Linda debated on whether she should have another drink, or call Patrick and see if she could still come in to work; she was only a few hours late. Patrick solved the dilemma; he called Linda and asked if she could come in for four hours.

A quick brush of her teeth, a spritz of cheap perfume and a strict admonishing to Sydnee that Angela Gernaud was not, repeat, not to come into her home, ever and Linda left for work.

After Linda left the trailer, Sydnee almost sent Angela a text message, warning her friend. Then she thought about it.

Sydnee had endured the shame of her mother thinking she was using meth because of Angela. She'd had to endure the humiliation of pulling her jeans and panties down, right in front of a really cute cop, had to endure the mortification of having to pee, right in front of the sexy cop.

"God, a woman in uniform, huh?" Sydnee murmured to herself, pressing her thighs together.

It had been Angela's fault, one hundred percent Angela's fault. Sydnee had not asked Angela for any drugs, had never even indicated she was interested in drugs.

"Fuck her," Sydnee thought and dug her supper out of the refrigerator.

The trailer was dark when Linda returned, shift over. Wearily, she stripped out of her clothing and pulled her pajamas on. The camisole top and tap pants were made of soft cotton; nylon or polyester made her sweat.

Sleep would not come. Linda lay in her bed, again hearing the 'Thud!' as ADA Adam Rich had dropped those heavy rings onto the table.