Fish Guts

Emaline’s jaw drops as she looks out of her home’s picture window.

Curious, her husband, Sheriff Rhett Osgood, moves to her side.

Rhett is only a decade and a half removed from having scored four touchdowns against the Carroll County Cougars. His performance earned him a contract with the New Orleans Saints, but a torn meniscus ended his football career, and he’s been the Sheriff of Bogalusa, Louisiana, a fishing village of 400 inhabitants, for the past twelve years. He retains his solid physique and is celebrated for his calm, pleasant demeanor.

Rhett married his high school crush, Emaline Goldfinch, who inherited the local diner when her father retired to Miami. Considered to be one of Bogalusa’s most successful couples, Rhett and Emaline’s personal lives haven’t gone as smoothly. Their daughter, Caitlin, died from a weak heart at three, leading them to treat their younger child, Forest, as if he were made of glass. Emaline secretly worries that Forest has inherited the same melancholy personality that made her mother kill herself at thirty-three.

Undersized and shy, eight-year-old Forest prefers the solitude of fishing by the Sabine River to the company of his classmates, making him an outcast and an easy target for ridicule.

Forest is having an animated discussion with Warren Wilkie, the town’s bullish, naive scavenger. He’s a main contributor to Tinky Shore’s junk empire. Twice a month, Tinky docks his boat at the marina, and Warren loads it with the metal, cans, and boxes he has collected.

“I should break that up,” Rhett says.

“No, let them be. Forest doesn’t have any friends. Neither does Warren. It’s nice that they found each other.”

“A mentally challenged man over thirty making friends with an eight-year-old? This may not end well.”

“You know very well that Warren’s harmless,” Emaline counters. “Think about the abuse he’s taken because he’s slow. All he had growing up was his aunt and that little shack he lives in.”

“I remember. He seemed fine as a kid. A little quiet and shy…”

“Who does that sound like?”

“Yeah, I get it. He was okay until his aunt died. Then he had some sort of psychotic breakdown. After that, he got bullied and teased every day until he quit school, and he’s been pushing that cart around ever since.”

“And dealing with being labeled the Village Idiot,” Emaline says. “No one should have to live like that.”

***

The next day, Rhett tracks Warren down outside of his modest shack. Seeing the police car, Warren nervously bounces around his small yard like a wayward pinball.

“What did I do? What did I do?”

“Relax, Warren. I’m here as a friend, not the law. I just want to talk to you, to see how you’re doing.”

“Why? You never cared before.”

“I know, and that’s wrong. I should have stood up for you in high school when you were being harassed, but I was too concerned with being popular to do the right thing. I want to try and make up for that and tell you that I’m glad you're friends with my boy.”

“You… You are?”

“Sure. What do you guys talk about?”

“Feelin’ alone in a crowd of people… Bein’ afraid of sayin’ or doin’ somethin’ stupid… But we talk about good things too… We both like fishin’. We’re goin’ down to the river together later on.”

“That’s nice.”

“I told Forest that I like to whittle too, but I don’t have any sharp knives anymore.”

“I know. He told me,” Rhett replies.

Rhett reaches into his pocket. Pulling out an oblong box, he hands it to Warren.

“Forest wanted you to have this.”

Warren opens it up, gasping.

“A knife!”

“You can use that to whittle with. Just don’t go whittling on any people, okay?”

***

“Dispatch to Car 41… Can you read me, Deputy?”

“Loud and clear, dispatch.”

Deputy Erica Terse, a five-foot-four-inch dynamo, has been in Bogalusa for three years and is determined to get promoted to detective and transfer to New Orleans. Her sharp tongue is matched by her angular features, Mohawk haircut, and the tattoos running the length of both arms.

“We’ve got a Code 287 in the village square. This could be your big break. Careful, you know the freaks come out at night.”

“Hilarious, Dorie. I’m on my way.”

Erica pulls her patrol car up to the Parisienne two-tier fountain, shining her headlights on it.

A naked Brooks Boone is sitting in the fountain, bathing himself.

Brooks is a sinewy, boisterous seventeen-year-old fisherman’s apprentice with a penchant for mischief. He also has a crush on Erica.

“Well, if it isn’t the one-man crime wave. Taking a bath, Brooks? It isn’t Saturday night.”

“Why don’t you climb up here, Erica? There’s plenty of room for two.”

“That’s Deputy Terse. Have you been drinking again, Brooks? You know the legal age in Bogalusa is twenty-one.”

Brooks gives Erica the raspberries, splashing water at her. “Every kid around here had their first drink of moonshine before they was ten.”

“You wanna come down from there or face a charge of lewd behavior?”

Brooks boldly stands up, unabashed in his nakedness. “Why don’tcha come and get me, hun? I’d like nothin’ better than to tussle with you.”

“Put your pants on and get down here, Brooks.”

“I like bein’ free!”

“You like bein’ tased?”

“Alright. But you don’t know what you’re missin’.”

“Judging by what I’m seein’, not much.”

Brooks retrieves his wet pants and T-shirt from the fountain and puts them on.

Erica puts him in handcuffs.

“Aw, c’mon, Erica. You know this ain’t necessary. Tell you what, if you take me home, I can sneak you into my bedroom. You can tell me the story behind them tattoos, and we can keep each other warm.”

“It’s seventy degrees, you lunkhead, and you’re goin’ to jail.”

“Jail? For a swim?”

Erica pats Brooks down.

“Hey, I like that! Do it again.”

“You’re goin’ in for lewd behavior and public intoxication. Your Daddy can bail you out in the mornin’.”

Erica pulls a knife out of Brooks’s pocket.

“Hey, c’mon now. I just bought that. I need it to gut fish.”

“You’ll get it in the mornin’. Providin’ fish is all you’ve been guttin’.”

***

The pudgy man in the straw hat stares at the intruder.

“I told you to git. This is my spot on the river. You’re gonna scare away the fish. Now get to steppin’.”

“I’ve got a right to be here.”

He spits a stream of tobacco juice onto the intruder’s new sneakers.

“You young’uns and your rights,” the man says, approaching the intruder. “Okay, you got a right to cry when I beat you senseless.”

The intruder eyes the knife in the fisherman’s tackle box.

***

The tranquil waters of the Sabine River lap against its muddy shore.

Rhett examines the waterlogged straw hat.

“Look familiar?” he asks Erica.

“Nope. The last guy I saw wearin’ one of those was Ricky Ricardo in an ‘I Love Lucy’ rerun.”

Erica rubs her hands together.

“Looks like we finally got a big case, Deputy. Try to contain your joy. Somebody’s dead.”

Rhett leans over the shoulder of the County Medical Examiner, Holden Coffman. Gaunt, with fair hair, empty, dark eyes, a pale complexion, and a nasal, whiny voice, the forty-eight-year-old M.E. comes off as humorless and annoyed.

“It’s likely he fell out of a boat,” Coffman mutters. “His shirt is torn up, so he might have hit a propeller. Makes it hard to tell how long he’s been in the water, but he’s bloated, so I’d say at least a week.”

Rhett exhales heavily as Erica snaps her fingers in frustration.

“So, no foul play,” she says.

“I didn’t say that.”

***

Brooks feels lucky. It’s been four days since the river was deemed off-limits after the stranger’s body was discovered. The fish are waiting for him.

Brooks’s enthusiasm is dulled when he sees Forest sitting by the river with his line in the water.

“Hey, Osgood! This here’s my spot!”

Forest sticks out his tongue. “My Dad’s the Sheriff. One word from me and your life’s a puddle of mud.”

Brooks drops his fishing rod and tackle box, running at Forest.

“I’ll show you mud!”

Forest retreats into the water.

“Go on, get them sneakers wet!”

Brooks would have left Forest standing in the muddy river all afternoon if Warren hadn’t shown up.

“You bullyin’ my friend, Boone?”

“Just teachin’ him a lesson. Only the strong survive.”

“How ‘bout I teach you one?” Warren asks.

“What you got, birdbrain?”

Warren pulls out his knife.

“Your tongue is sharp, but my knife’s sharper.”

Brooks drops his pole in the water, scurrying away through the bushes.

***

As Erica is driving Rhett home that night in her patrol car, he receives an update from Holden Coffman.

“Good news?” Erica asks.

“They were about to bury our John Doe. Coffman took a second look at those marks near his rib cage. A propeller didn’t cut him up. He was stabbed multiple times.”

“You mean we have an actual murder case?” Erica asks enthusiastically, gripping the cruiser’s steering wheel.

“You take delight in the strangest things, Deputy.”

She points at the diner.

“Did Emaline leave the lights on?”

“Nope.”

“Then somebody’s tryin’ to rip your wife off, boss.”

The front door creaks as Rhett eases it open. Erica holds her weapon in readiness as the pair traverses the diner’s shiny linoleum floor.

“Where’s the cash?” Erica whispers.

“Emaline puts it in the safe in the office every night.”

The pair creeps toward the diner’s back room.

“Safe’s untouched,” Rhett notes.

“Then what’s goin’ on here?”

A loud banging noise makes Rhett draw his weapon. The noise is followed by a muffled cry for help.

“It’s coming from the freezer,” Rhett says.

Cautiously approaching the walk-in freezer, he pulls on its handle, opening the door.

“Brooks!” Erica exclaims. “What in the name of the Jolly Green Giant are you doin’ in there?”

The shivering teen is covered in a layer of frost.

“I was hungry. I thought I’d stop in for a burger and some fries. I went to the freezer to get the food, and the door locked behind me.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, mastermind, the diner is closed,” Erica replies. “I’ve been spendin’ entirely too much time with you lately. You call yourself a fisherman. Go out and fish.”

“I… I wanna give it a rest for a while. Too many folks are crowdin’ the river…You gonna arrest me, Sheriff?”

“Considering this is your second drunken offense this month, you bet.”

“How about if I give you some inside information? It’s connected to that body you found. Please, my Daddy whupped me pretty hard for swimin’ in the fountain. He’s liable to cripple me for this.”

Rhett frowns at Brooks. “This had better not be some tall tale.”

“It ain’t. I swear. You know that huntin’ knife I got, Erica?”

“You mean Deputy Turse.”

“Yeah, sorry. Well, Warren Wilkie’s got the same knife. Only his has got blood on it.”

***

The pair of officers search the town for Warren the following morning, hoping Brooks’s bombshell was another in a series of lies in the hope of leniency.

Warren whistles loudly as his shopping cart rattles down the street.

Rhett and Erica approach him. Erica glances at the tarp covering the cart's contents.

“Hi, Sheriff. Hello Deputy. Got a big load of aluminum. Ferris Reason tore down his old shed and let me have it.”

“Speaking of letting somebody have it. That knife I bought you, let me see it.”

Warren’s head drops, and he kicks at the dirt.

“Well?”

“Shucks, Sheriff. Somebody stole it from me. I put it on the counter in your wife’s diner when I was havin’ my lunch. I went to the bathroom, and when I come out, it was gone.”

Warren’s eyes bulge as Erica pats him down.

“Jesus, whenever I frisk a man it’s like he’s never been touched before,” she says.

“Not like that,” Warren mutters.

“He’s clean.”

“Any idea who might have taken your knife, Warren?” Erica asks.

“Nope. There was a whole mess of people in there. The road crew, a couple of people from the boardin’ house, a few people from the bar, some kids…”

“When was it stolen?” Rhett asks.

“’Bout a week ago. I miss it. You know how I like to whittle. I’m sorry, I know it cost you a lot of money.”

“It’s fine, Warren.”

Erica gets close to Warren, invading his space. He backs away.

“Did you ever pull that knife on anybody?”

Warren hesitates, the sides of his mouth twitching.

“Well, did you?”

“Yeah, just before I lost it. I went down to the river ‘bout a week ago. Brooks Boone was hasslin’ Forest. I told him to stop. He wouldn’t, so I pulled it on him.”

“He said he saw blood on it. Where’d it come from?”

“Fish guts.”

Patting Warren on the shoulder, Rhett says, “Go on about your business.”

Rhett can feel Erica staring at him as he watches Warren amble away.

“Pretty convenient that he lost the knife right about the time that body showed up. Do you believe him?”

“I’ve known Warren all his life. I’ve never seen him get angry, not even when the kids on the bus were threatening him. I’ve never heard him lie.”

“So, why’d you buy George Washington a knife? Why not just buy the dullard a submachine gun?”

“He likes to whittle. Besides, as well-known as he is around town, do you think Warren would kill someone and dump their body in the river?”

“Let’s get a warrant for his place and find out.”

***

Rhett opens the door to Warren’s shack.

“I feel kind of dirty doing this.”

“You’ll feel better if he’s innocent.”

The pair wade through stacks of magazines, empty crates, and boxes, and a kitchen littered with old pots and pans.

Erica opens up the bedroom closet. It’s empty.

“You know what’s missing? Clothes, toothpaste, towels. You don’t suppose our innocent dumb-dumb is in the wind?”

“I would say that’s a distinct possibility.”

Erica looks under the mattress.

“Bingo!” she announces, holding up a knife.

***

Erica drums her fingers on the desk.

“It’s been two days. It’s only a knife. What’s taking forensics so long?”

The phone rings a few moments later. Erica snaps it up.

Rhett watches her expression darken.

Erica slams down the phone.

“More fish guts! All the knives in his town are covered in fish guts!”

Dorrie Speaks, the dispatcher, enters the room, reading the local paper and laughing to herself.

“What’s so funny, Dorrie? I could use a good laugh.”

Dorrie sets the paper down in front of Erica.

“…Rhett… You have to see this…”

Rhett looks at the picture accompanying the article entitled: “LOCAL ENTREPRENEUR DONATES $20,000, ESTABLISHES SABINE RIVER ENDOWMENT.”

Warren is holding up a large mock check for the camera.

“He got rich off of scrap metal? It says he retired to Pensacola. This picture was probably taken the day we stopped him in the street.”

Erica slams the back of her hand against her forehead. “His cart was covered when we stopped him...”

“He wasn’t pushing along a load of aluminum,” Rhett replies. “He was hiding his clothes.”

“We need to extradite him.”

“We need to leave him alone,” Rhett concludes. “We can’t tie him to the murder. The only thing Warren’s ever been guilty of is bad luck and bad timing. Looks like he’s changed that. I say we let him be.”

“Permission to go home and get drunk, boss.”

“Granted. Just don’t do anything else foolish.”

***

Erica is still muttering to herself as twilight settles in around her as she drives past the river. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Brooks fishing by the banks of the Sabine.

“Well, at least he’s not wreckin’ public property.”

It takes a moment for the image to register in her mind, but she thinks she saw a figure stalking Brooks.

Turning the car around, she speeds back to Brooks’s fishing spot.

Erica screams Brooks’s name as she slams the car door, racing to the river.

She stops cold when she sees Brooks lying face-first by the water’s edge.

“I’m too late!”

Erica rolls him over.

Brooks tries to speak, coughing up blood and water.

“Still trying to get a date?” Erica jokes nervously, noticing the puncture wounds in his side.

Brooks looks at her with terror in his eyes. “Watch… watch out, Deputy Terse…”

“Call me Erica.”

Groaning as he lifts his arm, Brooks points behind her.

Erica turns in time to rattle her assailant, who jabs her in the side with a knife.

Ignoring the sharp pain, she chases after her assailant, who zig zags through the thick brush, disappearing from view.

Erica staggers back to Brooks, covering the flow of blood coming from her side with her hand. The pain intensifies, stealing her breath. She collapses, passing out inches away from Brooks.

***

When Erica opens her eyes in the hospital, Rhett is sitting nearby.

“…I was wrong about Warren. It wasn’t him…”

“Did you see who attacked you?”

“No, but I got the impression he was small and weak, but quick… Did Brooks make it?”

“No… But we’ll get the killer.”

“Fat lot of good that’ll do Brooks.”

***

Emaline pecks Rhett on the cheek.

“How is Erica?”

“Embarrassed that the killer got the drop on her. But physically, she’s fine.”

Emaline puts a bowl of beef stew in front of him.

“Extra onions, just like you like it. But eating it puts any post-dinner cuddling in jeopardy.”

Rhett chuckles as he looks across the table at his son.

Forest is playing with a large knife.

“Whose knife is that, Forest?”

“Mine.”

Rhett notices it has streaks of blood on it.